Back to Magic
by Pagemistress89
Summary: Mark Lilson just wanted to show his dad a cool trick. He certainly didn't expect to get his whole life turned upside down, or to find out that his dad's actually a famous member, long thought dead, of a magical society. Hold it. His dad's a wizard?
1. Chapter 1: A Cool Trick

Chapter 1: A Cool Trick

"Dad? I've got a question for you." Mark Lilson scuffed his foot against the soft carpet of his father's room. His father, James Lilson, turned from his computer to see what the thirteen-year old wanted.

"What's up, Mark?" Dad's voice was light, but his eyes were openly curious. That's what Mark liked best about his dad. He was always interested in what Mark and his siblings had to say, no matter how stupid it was likely to be.

Mark bit his lip, unsure of exactly how to phrase this. "Y'know how all of your bedtime stories when I was little were all about magic? About magic schools, unicorns, and phoenixes?" Dad nodded. "Do you ever wonder if any of that's true? If there's really magic, and wizards, and witches?"Dad crossed his arms and looked pensive.

"Well, I'm not about to dismiss the possibility, but then again, I'm also not about to say that magic definitely exists. I think it's usually best kept to bedtime stories, though, unless someone can produce real proof of magic." Mark grinned a bit. This was going better than he had expected. He had been planning on arguing for the existence of magic for at least a little bit, but now he didn't need to.

After a deep breath, Mark plunged into probably the most difficult part of the conversation. "I've think I could do that, Dad." His father raised an eyebrow.

"Do what? Keep magic to bedtime stories or produce proof of magic?" Mark took another big breath and held up his right hand, fingers pointing towards his dad's bed.

"Produce proof." Mark furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. After a few seconds, the big pillow his dad favored shivered a bit and then shot into Mark's waiting hand. Mark smiled at his success and turned to his dad again, when his smile immediately faded. His father had gone entirely white, his green eyes and black eyebrows the only color left on his face.

"Dad?" Mark asked, tentative again. He knew this was a bad idea. He should have shown Maria and Roger first, and then they all could have prepared Dad for this. Dad usually dealt with surprises well, but magic had stopped being the topic of bedtime stories four years ago, when Mom died. Even little Roger had stopped asking for stories of magic plants, even though he loved them more than any other story. Grandma said that all the magic in the world died with Mom, in Dad's mind. Mark had though, though, that maybe enough time had passed for Dad to let magic in the world again. Dad was usually so willing to listen, so reasonable. But now … Dad was trembling. Suddenly he got up and started pacing. "Dad?" Mark asked again.

Then Dad started muttering with his pacing, trying to work out what, exactly, he thought about this, Mark thought. Even straining to hear, Mark could only hear a few words. "...too old … why couldn't he … why didn't … was afraid … should've known …" Dad turned again in his pacing, face dark. Mark blanched. It had been years since he had seen Dad so angry. Miserable now, Mark tried to fix it.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I just thought it was a cool little trick, and maybe you could – I'm sorry. I won't do it again, Dad, I promise. Really. I just – I'm sorry." His eyes downward, he didn't see his father jerk his head up, surprised to hear that. His dad stopped in front of him and placed his fingers under Mark's chin, bringing his head up. Mark looked up, surprised to see all traces of anger in his father's face gone. In its place was penitence and – and something Mark couldn't quite identify. Pride? Pleasure? Relief?

"I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't mean to scare you. Or upset you. I was just – surprised. I should have expected it, really. I did expect it, actually. I just thought this would happen when you were younger. After you were eleven, though," Dad shrugged. "I figured that you didn't have it. I stopped watching so carefully." Dad made a face. "I should have known it wouldn't be so simple." Mark was very confused now. Dad was expecting this? What? Did Dad actually believe in magic? Why did he think Mark would have been able to make pillows move when he was younger? His confusion must have shown on his face, because Dad smiled wryly right then. "I expect that's confused you beyond anything else." Dad glanced at the clock. "School won't be out for another two hours, so I guess I may as well show you now." Dad made his way out to the hall and then glanced back. "I suppose this is why you weren't feeling so well today and had to stay home. Wore yourself out working on that little trick last night?"

Mark smiled sheepishly. "It was an accident, the first time. I was doing homework, and my pencil fell off my bed. I leaned over to grab it, but I accidently rolled it under my bed, so I got off to get it, but it was just out of reach. I kept reaching for it, and then it just – kind of zoomed into my hand." Mark shrugged. "I didn't know what I had done, but I wanted to see if I could do it again. I tossed my eraser to the other side of the room and tried to do it again. It took me maybe ten minutes, but I made it zoom into my hand, too. I did it over and over until I could do it really quickly, and then I started doing it with other stuff. The pillows are easiest, though." Dad nodded, thoughtfully.

"They usually had us start with pillows, too. I think it had something to do with the stuffing in them. Most pillows have some sort of feathers in them, I think, and feathers are associated with flight and movement, so it's easier." Mark was totally baffled.

"Uh, Dad?" Dad looked at him, startled out of his musings. "What are you talking about?" He had reached the hall closet now, and had pulled a chair over to the open closet. He stepped onto the chair and reached his arms out to the back of the top shelf.

"My charms professor covered summoning charms in my fourth year at Hogwarts. Before you ask, Hogwarts is a school that teaches magic." Dad looked down at him, smiling a bit. "Most of my bedtime stories came from things I saw at Hogwarts, actually."

Mark pinched himself, and then winced at the pain. No, he was definitely awake. "That doesn't explain anything, Dad. I thought you went to the local school, not some magic school. And – what the? We have a trapdoor?" Dad had done something to the top shelf, and a small door swung out from the back. Dad grinned down at him again.

"Not quite. This is another attic, filled with most of my stuff from when I was your age and a little older. Now give me a minute. I need to grab something." Dad pulled himself to the top shelf and crawled through the little door. Wildly, Mark thought that it was a good thing Dad had always been so skinny, even though he mostly worked at a desk these days. Dad had been one of the best men in the local police force when Mark was younger, but he took a desk job at the police station when Mom died. He told Mark and the others that he wasn't about to risk making his children complete orphans and get in gun fights with gangs and criminals. Now Dad pieced evidence together and helped figure out who the bad guys were, instead of directly fighting crime like he used to. Dad still didn't let himself gain weight, though. Actually, Mark had overheard a doctor tell Dad last year that he could even stand to gain weight. Dad had just told the man that he had never been able to gain much weight and if it hadn't hurt him in all of his 34 years, it wouldn't ever hurt him.

Now Mark figured that Dad just hadn't wanted to chance being unable to get through the trapdoor into his secret attic. He wondered what Dad kept in there. Maybe a hidden stash of money? No, Dad was talking about a magic school. Maybe he had a book of magic tricks in there, and he was going to show Mark them. But no – this was real magic. Mark knew that; he had done the magic himself. Whatever Dad did at his magic school probably wasn't called a trick. What had Dad said? Summoning charms? Then maybe it was a book of magic charms. Maybe even – Mark pulled himself together just as Dad crawled out and dropped lightly onto the chair and then the ground. In his hand was a strange sort of stick. It was maybe a foot long and was made of some sort of light wood. Mark's jaw dropped.

"Is that seriously a magic wand, Dad? You've got a magic wand? No way! Does that mean you can do magic? Why didn't you ever tell me you could do magic, Dad?" Mark fired questions at his father, but Dad only smiled a little. Mark fell silent, realizing that Dad's face looked the way he did when people mentioned Mum: sad, regretful, and pained. Dad saw Mark's remorseful face and smiled a little more cheerfully.

"Yes, it's a real magic wand. I can do real magic, too. I never told you for the same reason I keep my wand up in the hidden attic. I left magic behind about seventeen or eighteen years ago, Mark. I wanted to leave it behind forever." Dad sighed. "I guess I should have known that was impossible. Come here, son." Mark followed Dad back into Dad's room. Dad sat back down at his desk and gestured for Mark to find a seat. Mark perched on the bed and prepared to listen. Dad looked like he was getting into lecture mode.

"When I was about eleven years old, I received a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had never believed in magic before, but strange things had been happening around me my whole life. Burnt food would somehow fix itself, clothes I didn't want to have to wear would shrink until I couldn't fit in them, and I even once managed to jump and land on the roof of my school when bullies were chasing me. It turns out that was all magic. In fact, it turned out that there was an entire hidden society of people that did magic.

"So I went to Hogwarts and started learning magic. I got this wand," he waved it a bit "and I used it to create fire, unlock doors, fix small tears, and summon things" he nodded at Mark, who smiled back, albeit a little shakily, "among other spells. I learned to ride a flying broomstick. I made some wonderful friends there. Until I met your mother, going to Hogwarts was the best thing I had ever done.

"But it wasn't all nice charms and flying. There was a dark wizard named Voldemort, and he restarted a war when I was fifteen. He wanted to become immortal and rule the world and he thought that the best way to do that was to kill everyone who opposed him. And everyone I cared about or respected opposed him." Dad fingered his wand and twirled it slowly. "Many people that I knew died, fighting him and his followers. Almost everybody in wizarding society was afraid of him or supported him." Dad swallowed. "Voldemort was finally killed a few months before I turned eighteen, but it had all been too much for me. I loved magic – I still do – but it was magic that let Voldemort hurt and kill all those people. And magic couldn't save people, in the end.

"So I left a few months after Voldemort died. I moved to America, spent a year catching up on all the non-magical schooling I had missed – Hogwarts doesn't teach much besides magic, you know – and got an American high school diploma. I started college, met your mum, and well." Dad shrugged. "You know what happened then." Mark grinned. He loved hearing about when his parents met.

"Mom thought you were a workaholic recluse, since you never went to any parties and spent all your time studying. She was incredibly social and outgoing, though, and she decided to drag you to at least one party before she graduated. While she worked on pulling you out of your shell, you two fell in love. Your first party ended up being your wedding reception, and your second one was when I was born," Mark recited, adding an extra smile when he got to his birth. Dad nodded, smiling as well.

"I was such a 'recluse', as your mum taught you to say, because I didn't really know how to interact among muggles – non-magical people. I studied as much as I did because I wanted to do well in school for once, and because I wanted to graduate early and get to the Police Academy as soon as possible. My point, Mark, is that it's been a very long time since I've really done much magic. All those stories I told you kids were mostly things I had seen and done, edited a little bit." Mark accepted this explanation easily enough. It made sense, really.

"So why did you change your name from James? You could have called the main character – who I guess was you – Jim or something, couldn't you?" Dad smiled wryly.

"The names were the parts that I didn't change, Mark. I changed my name when I moved to America, though I suppose you could argue that James Lilson is as much my name as Harry Potter."

* * *

Author's Note: This is the second time, I think, that I've uploaded this chapter to fix a few minor mistakes I noticed while writing chapter 5, and unfortunately, the author's note is not part of the chapter as I have it on my computer. So I don't remember what I had originally written here. It probably, however, contained a celebration of this my new fic, an admittance that yes, this is a 'Harry leaves the wizarding world, starts a new life, and must return to the wizarding world years later' fic, and a plea for reviews. The only part I care to repeat, though, is the last: please, pretty please, review this and tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2: A New World

Chapter 2: A New World

James quietly closed his daughter's bedroom door and padded down the hall and into his own room. He grimaced at the direction his thoughts headed down every time he thought of that description, but continued anyway. Four years ago, he hadn't called it 'his own room' or even just 'his room.' It had been 'their room' – his and Sandra's. Even though it had been over three years since she died, even though this was a different house in a different country, he was still unable to think of her without pain. True, it was no longer disabling to the point that he required hours to pull himself together again, but it still hurt. He supposed it would always hurt.

Sandra hadn't just been his wife and the mother of their three children, she had been his savior. When he thought there was no more point in living and was only breathing out of habit, she had pushed her way into his life. Sandra's outgoing nature wouldn't let anyone be alone and she had regarded his solitary life as a personal insult. Within two weeks of meeting they were hanging out every other night. Six months later they were engaged. They hadn't been seriously separated since then until she died ten years, seven months, and seventeen days after their wedding. April 3, 2010. One of the blackest days in his life. There were only four other days like it in his memory. The day his parents died. The day Cedric Diggory died and Voldemort returned. The day Sirius died. The day he killed Voldemort only after Hermione, Ginny, and who knows who else fell to Death Eater wands. Harry collapsed in his bed – _Sandra's and his bed_ – and closed his eyes.

Mark was magical after all. James had wondered, at first. But Mark had never made strange things happen when he was younger, and he hadn't gotten a letter at eleven, so James had just assumed that Mark was non-magical. A squib, technically, except that he apparently wasn't. Maybe he just didn't have enough magic – maybe he didn't qualify for a letter? But no. Harry remembered Neville Longbottom saying that he was almost a squib, and he still made it to Hogwarts. Besides, Mark had taught himself how to summon objects wordlessly and wandlessly. That had to mean a strong magical talent. Perhaps he just had a lot of innate control. That would certainly explain the lack of accidental magic in his childhood.

But shouldn't he have gotten a letter anyway? Not from Hogwarts, maybe, but surely there was a school in America – ah. He had it now. James didn't really know too much about magical education in the United States, but children probably still started at eleven. And when Mark was about eleven, the family was moving to England. So the American school hadn't sent Mark a letter, and by the time they were all officially British residents, Hogwarts letters had probably been sent out. So Mark must have just slipped under the radar.

That didn't mean he couldn't get a magical education, though. Harry faintly remembered someone – maybe it was Remus – telling him that the Ministry made Hogwarts attendance compulsory back in '97, when Voldemort gained control over the Ministry. Magical children had the option of homeschooling until then. And whoever became Minister of Magic probably reversed that decree shortly after the war ended. So maybe Harry could teach Mark, or he could get a tutor. Whoever was Headmaster or Headmistress – perhaps McGonagall, if she was still alive – could probably tell him.

James rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. He hadn't actually thought about Hogwarts in years. When he first ran away to America he was focused mostly on forgetting about everything that pained him so much. He didn't exactly decide to stay away forever, or to pretend that magic was just a theme for bedtime stories. It just happened. It was easier to pretend – magic that didn't exist couldn't kill people, after all. Harry supposed that he had always expected that he would go back one day, but he never knew when that day would come. The first couple of years he just wanted to fit in with the muggles and avoid painful memories until he had recovered emotionally. Then he married Sandra and started a family; of course he couldn't run off to find surviving friends and leave his wife alone with one – two – three young children. Then Sandra was diagnosed with breast cancer and there was no way he was leaving her or the kids. Then they were grieving, then they were moving, then they were settling in – James supposed he no longer had an excuse. Quite the contrary, even – now he had a definite reason to face his past. Mark needed a magical education, and Maria and Roger would probably be in the same condition in a few years.

Maybe he could find out which of his friends survived and visit the graves of everyone who had fallen. As a matter of fact, he should do that anyway. He owed it to them. He could do it once he had a definite plan of action for Mark. So he would take Mark to Diagon Alley in the morning – he was still recovering from his first planned magical exercise and wouldn't be attending school Thursday – to get a wand and some other supplies, then he would visit Hogwarts a few days after and learn the state of things, and then he would track down his old friends. Harry smiled faintly. It would be good to see Ron again, even though he knew he would feel the loss of Hermione and Ginny the whole time. Maybe Hagrid was still around – he could visit him when he went to Hogwarts.

Decision made, Harry dropped his arm and head, rolled over again, and went to sleep.

* * *

Mark slept in until eleven o'clock the next day, totally unaware of his younger siblings' racket as they got ready for school. He stirred slightly when James quietly told him he was taking Maria and Roger to school, but quickly dropped back into a deep sleep. He had, after all, purposely used magic for about three hours two days ago and then used more magic the next day. While most thirteen-year old wizards could cast spells all day long without much strain, they had all been consciously using magic for three years and used wands to focus their magic. Mark had no wand and his first spell was one not normally attempted until after at least two years of training. Three hours of focused, advanced magic had therefore completely exhausted him.

James had expected this and so wasn't that surprised when his oldest remained dead to the world. He just calmly called Mark's school and told them that he was still pretty sick, but should be back by Friday. When James saw Mark stumble to the bathroom at eleven, then, he easily bit back any teasing comments about laziness and started scrambling some eggs for him.

"Good morning Mark. Feeling better?" James asked when Mark came downstairs ten minutes later, much more alert. Mark smiled up at his father.

"Yeah. Did I really sleep for twenty hours? It didn't feel like it." Mark and James had talked until James had to pick the younger kids up. By the time he came back, Mark had gone back to bed and hadn't even twitched when his younger brother loudly came in to see if Mark wanted to play.

"Just about. Magical exhaustion isn't much fun, is it?" James handed Mark a plate of eggs and toast and sat down across from him, a cup of tea in hand. Mark shook his head as he began eating.

"I didn't really notice it yesterday, though. I was too interested in what you were saying to be tired, I think. Did it ever happen to you?" James smiled wryly.

"Quite a bit. I suppose I never really told you lot about how much time I spent in the hospital wing, did I?" When Mark shook his head, Harry continued. "My first year, after I faced Voldemort and got the Philosopher's Stone, I had magical exhaustion. One minute Quirrell was screaming and my hands were burning, and then I opened my eyes and Professor Dumbledore was sitting by my bedside in the hospital wing. I had been asleep for days – missed the Quidditch game, too. Even after I woke up, Madam Pomfrey – the school nurse – didn't let me out of bed until the End-of-the-Year Feast. I asked her why I was so tired, and she told me that most wizards were sensible enough to use their wands when they needed to do magic. Trying to do focused magic without a wand is exhausting, especially when you actually succeed and then keep doing it without resting. Which is what you did," James reminded Mark. Mark looked sheepish.

"It's not like I knew about any of this!" He protested. "I always thought your stories were just stories you thought up. It's not like you ever actually showed us magic, you know. I never thought it was actually real. If I hadn't figured out how to make stuff come to me over and over, I still wouldn't think it was real." He got up to put his plate in the sink and prepared to continue his defense, but then his father held up a hand.

"I realize that, Mark. I'm not even going to point out that if you had just showed me the first time you managed to do it on purpose, you wouldn't have exhausted yourself. I will say, however, that before you try to do it again, I'm going to make sure you have a wand to work with." Mark looked up eagerly.

"I get to use your wand? I thought you said I couldn't, yesterday." James shook his head.

"Once you've cleaned yourself up a bit, we're going to Ollivander's to get you your own wand. We might get some other things, too. Then I'll show you my old books and you can start learning theory. Even with your own wand, I don't want you trying spells until you know what you're doing."

"What about Hogwarts, though? I thought you said magical kids went there to learn magic." Mark's eyes narrowed. "You also said they started going there when they were eleven. If I have magic, why didn't I get to go then?"

"Well, I'm not sure, but I think you slipped under the radar. Remember, we were moving when you were eleven, so it's possible Hogwarts and the American schools each thought the other would invite you and didn't bother themselves. Rather stupid of them, when you think about it. As it is, I'm not sure Hogwarts is the best place for you now. You're three or four years behind now, after all. Besides, do you really want to leave your friends here and attend a boarding school?" Mark shook his head vigorously, eyes wide.

"I'm just barely getting accepted as an 'almost native' here! I don't want to have to make friends all over again." James grinned down at him.

"That's what I thought. But you still need to learn magic, so go on – I'm not taking you to Diagon Alley in your pajamas!" Mark grinned back at him before turning to race upstairs again. James finished off his tea and headed upstairs into his room. He had gone back into the attic earlier that day, after he had taken Maria and Roger to school, and grabbed his Gringotts key, some of his old textbooks, and a few other miscellaneous items. His wand was already in his room. Harry fingered the thin holly wand and pointed it at his still unmade bed. The covers twitched. Harry frowned and tried again; this time they rushed to tuck themselves in and smooth out their wrinkles. Harry smiled and checked that none of his things were hurt by that. His books were still piled clumsily on the foot of his bed. His old potions kit was next to them, untouched by the spell. And next to the kit –

Harry slowly picked up the elder wand, thoughtful. The wand was as powerful as legends claimed; it had managed to fix his holly wand when nothing else could. He suspected that it was thanks to the wand that he had managed to apparated from the battleground despite his own case of magical exhaustion that day. Dumbledore had helped him once again; his old wand had accepted Harry as a master and turned on Voldemort before it let him kill Harry. He supposed it was also partially due to Harry holding the Resurrection Stone in a pocket and the Invisibility Cloak in his mole pouch. The Deathly Hallows, united by their master, had saved his life twice. Did that mean that Mr. Lovegood had been right? Did they really prevent death, or were they just tools in a powerful wizard's hands like Hermione thought?

The sound of the shower turning off jolted Harry out of his thoughts. He had been thinking of his past more and more often lately. Not that that really surprised him, of course – what else could he think about, with his son a wizard and his younger two probably the same? James grimaced. Maria was ten now and would probably be getting a letter next summer. She was an adventurous little girl and would doubtlessly be thrilled to go to Hogwarts. Roger would likely do the same thing when he turned eleven in four years. _On Hermione's birthday_, he reminded himself.

He sighed. Everything always came back to Hermione and Ginny somehow. Everything about schools and Roger reminded him of Hermione. Roger was a lot like her, too. Was it something about September 12th? He was a bookworm and had amazing retention for a seven-year old. He was the fastest reader in his class, but he was quiet and withdrawn, unlike Hermione, who had always tried to share her knowledge with everyone. What made it worse was that he had inherited Sandra's curly brown hair and brown eyes, so Harry couldn't help but think of his old friend whenever he looked at his youngest son.

And Ginny. Maria had the same adventurous attitude that Ginny had when she was younger, according to Ron. His daughter's best friend in America was red-headed, and he had gotten a bad shock when he first saw Maria's black hair right next to Susan's bright red hair. It reminded him too much of one of the few pictures he had of Ginny and him together and he had needed to excuse himself from the room when he first saw them together, to collect himself. He had thought that it would be easier once they were an ocean apart, but England only raised more memories of the Weasleys, and so Ginny was never far from his mind. He used to think that he was being unfaithful to Sandra whenever Ginny crept into his head, but he knew better now. They were both in the past now, but he would love both of them forever and the pain of losing them would never completely stop. It had been sixteen years since Ginny had died and only four since he had lost Sandra, but the pain was actually pretty equal. He figured that the longer time since Ginny's death was matched by the closure he had found in Sandra's funeral. He wondered idly if he would ever fall in love again, and if losing another love would lessen the pain or increase it. He shrugged. It didn't really matter at the moment.

"Dad?" Mark poked his head into James' room, probably wondering why his father looked so gloomy. James pushed his ponderings to the side and smiled at Mark.

"Ready to go, then?" Mark nodded. James stood up, checked to make sure that his Gringotts key and a few Galleons were in his pocket, picked up his holly wand again, and led his son outside.

"How will we get there?" Mark asked.

"Do you remember me telling you about a magical bus that could take you anywhere you needed to go? The Knight Bus? I'm going to summon it now and we'll ride it to the Leaky Cauldron. That's in London, and the easiest way for us to get there will be the Knight Bus. It can be summoned just by raising your wand in the air." James raised his wand. "I'll warn you, though: it's a pretty bumpy ride. A bit like a roller coaster, really." Mark's eyes lit up at that and he opened his mouth to reply, but he decided not to after he jumped at the BANG! that heralded the bus's arrival.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus!" A gangly teenager began what was clearly a well-practiced spiel. Once he had introduced both the bus and himself (Jack), he accepted James' money for the fare, offered and received change, and showed them both a seat. "Where are you off to, then?" He asked.

"The Leaky Cauldron," James told him. Jack nodded, relayed the information to the driver (Harry thought it was Ernie, but he wasn't sure), and Mark yelped as the bus suddenly shot forward. Ernie seemed to have become slightly better with the steering wheel, but not by much. James sat on the bench with a hand firmly on his son's shoulder. Mark looked like he was enjoying the ride a little too much and James was worried that his roller coaster "junkie" son would try to get up to make it much more exciting.

True to form, Mark groaned a bit when the bus came to a stop, but he brightened up once they stepped out and James pointed out the Leaky Cauldron. The place hadn't changed too much – though it looked a little cleaner. The bartender, a middle-aged man with graying hair, greeted them affably and offered a drink, but James declined, explaining that they were on a slightly tight schedule. He quickly led his son through the pub and showed him the archway. Once it was open, he peered at his son's face and was gratified by the awed expression. Harry grinned, remembering his first visit to the alley and his own amazement.

"This is so cool!" Mark exclaimed. "What are we doing first? Can we get my wand first?" James shook his head slightly.

"First I need to get some money from Gringotts." He explained before steering his son towards the large white building.

"That's the wizarding bank, right? Run by goblins?"

"That's right." James agreed, surprised that Mark had remembered so well. After all, it had been at least five years since his son had stopped listening to James' bedtime stories. He supposed that finding out they were all true had been enough incentive for the teenager to dredge up all memory of those stories and review everything.

The bank seemed to have entirely recovered from the dragon-inflicted damage Harry, Ron, and Hermione had inflicted on it. Harry just hoped the goblins were similarly over the incident. He had, after all, broken into their bank and stolen something.

He was lucky. The goblins were as surly as ever, but they didn't seem to take note of the fact that he wanted to access the Potter vault. That or they just didn't care. Frankly, Harry didn't care either way and was mostly interested in keeping Mark from upsetting the cart in an attempt to get a faster or more exciting ride.

"This is great!" The teen said when they stepped out. "Are all magical transportation things so fast? Can we try travelling by fire next?" James groaned quietly.

"Most methods are rather fast, but honestly, Mark, I hate going by fire – or floo, as it's properly called. Apparition's nearly as bad," he continued, unlocking the vault, "and so are portkeys. The only decent way to travel, in my opinion, is car and broomstick. And yes, I'll see if we can find a way to show you how to fly. Not today, though. Your brother and sister will be out of school in a few hours, and I want to get our errands done, first. Now, look here Mark." He had grabbed a good handful of Galleons and Sickles, stuck most of them in a pouch, and now held a Galleon, Sickle, and Knut in his hand. "The bronze one is a Knut. There are 29 Knuts in a Sickle – that's the silver one – and 17 Sickles in a Galleon – the gold ones. Alright?" Mark nodded.

"Are the Galleons real gold?" James frowned and turned to the goblin.

"I don't know, actually. Are they?" The goblin sneered at them and informed them that yes, they were, but there was Goblin magic on them to prevent them from being melted down and to make them less heavy. Mark looked impressed.

They went to Ollivander's next. Mark shivered as they entered the store, but Harry couldn't blame him. Ollivander had always creeped him out. The old man remained true to form and snuck up on them. Mark jumped.

"I must say, I wasn't expecting customers today. Particularly not you, Mr. Potter, since you were declared dead over ten years ago." Ollivander raised an eyebrow at him, silver eyes staring straight into Harry's green ones. Harry forced himself to stay calm for his son's sake.

"I hadn't realized that. It makes sense, though – I have been missing, I guess. Will that interfere with my son getting a wand?" He gestured at Mark, who cringed a bit when those penetrating eyes turned to him.

"Of course not. He seems a bit old for a first-year, though. Does your wand still work well? Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix feather core, correct?" Harry nodded. "You might want to look into officially returning to life, though." Harry smiled wryly.

"You're probably right. It would make things easier, I guess. Gringotts didn't seem to mind, though. And Mark's thirteen, but he never got a letter. We were moving from America to England when he was eleven. I just found out that he has magic a few days ago."

"That would do it," Ollivander agreed. "And the goblins don't care who accesses vaults. All they care about is whether or not you have the proper key. Now, lad. Which is your wand arm?" Mark looked startled.

"Wand arm? I'm right handed – is that what you mean?" He looked to James for reassurance and got it in the form of an encouraging smile. Mark calmed down a bit, but still jumped when the measuring stick flew at him. Ollivander began rummaging among his boxes.

"Ollivander wands are made with all woods, with one of three cores: phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, and unicorn tail. Other wandmakers use other cores as well, but I find these to be the most reliable cores. Try this one. Beech, unicorn tail, ten inches." Mark tentatively accepted the wand and started looking to his father again, but jumped instead when the old man snatched the wand away.

"No, no. How about this one?" The process continued for about five minutes, until Mark finally found a matching wand: hawthorn, 12 inches, and a dragon heartstring core. Grinning at his son's small fireworks display, James handed over the proper amount of money for the wand.

"Any idea about how to come back to life?" He asked the wandmaker. It was a good point. He had never realized that people might have thought that he was dead.

"I would think that the first step would be to go to the Ministry of Magic. They are the ones in charge of citizenship, and they have copies of all official papers. They would certainly be the ones to ask, not me. Will you be sending your son to Hogwarts, or do you plan to hire a tutor?"

"I wasn't sure if there were tutors. If I can, I'll do that, though. It'd be easier, I think. Would someone at the Ministry know how to go about that, too?"

"Certainly. Now, I wish you a good day, Mr. Potter, and good luck to you, young Master Potter." Returning his wishes, James and Mark left the shop.

"Man! He was creepy, Dad. Are all wizards like that?" James grinned down at him.

"Are you including me in that assessment, son?" Mark looked sheepish. "Ollivander's one of a kind, really. I've never met someone like him. Wizards and witches tend to be just like muggles – non-magical people – when you get down to it, Mark. A trifle eccentric, I suppose, but that's probably because they're rather old-fashioned. Now, how about a treat? Florean Fortesque has always had the best ice cream I've ever had." Mark nodded enthusiastically, hand clenched around his new wand. Grinning at him again, James led him to the ice cream café. Things were going well so far. He had a few more things to do, yes, but the day was mostly going according to plan.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to tell Maria and Roger that magic was real.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, what do you think? I like it, personally, but I guess I'm kind of biased. So you should all review and tell me what you think!

As you can probably tell, I'm keeping this pretty compliant with Deathly Hallows. I change things only at the end of the book. While walking down to his death, Harry sees the battlefield and sees Hermione get hit by a really nasty curse. This firms his resolve to stop the battle and turn himself in. Furthermore, Hagrid wasn't there when Harry turns himself in, nor were the Malfoys. So Harry reveals that he's alive right away and he and Voldemort talk and fight right there. Voldemort dies in the Forest and Harry picks up all three Deathly Hallows before leaving the Forest to announce that Voldemort's dead. Before he can, though, he sees Ginny in Molly's arms, is too shocked to really think straight, and ends up apparating away from the horrible scene. He never comes back to the wizarding world. Until his son shows him that little trick, that is.

Also, you've likely noticed that I keep switching between 'Harry' and 'James'. This is not a mistake! I figure that he's gone by James for so long that he really does consider himself to be James Lilson. He calls himself 'Harry' whenever he slips back into the past or actually feels like Harry Potter - which is pretty rare for him, actually.

Anyway, please review and give me compliments, comments, and critiques! I'd like more compliments than criticisms, though.


	3. Chapter 3: A Bedtime Story

Chapter 3: A Bedtime Story

"We're home!" James looked up from his tattered copy of _Magical Theory_ to see his youngest two children walk through the door. Maria looked as cheerful as her announcement had been, but Roger looked pretty glum.

"Welcome back!" He greeted the kids. "Maria, do not leave your things on the ground. Put them away properly. Roger, what's wrong?" His son shook his head and continued trudging upstairs to put his school things away. James looked to Maria and she gave him a half-smile.

"Teachers are starting to talk about Mother's Day in class." She offered. James nodded, understanding now. The whole family still missed their matron, but Roger was the only one who continued to struggle with tears at an extended reminder. He would probably be in tears at least twice on Mothering Sunday. Of course, James would probably need some private time then, too.

"Well," James forced some cheer into his voice, "I've got something to distract him. Can you fetch Mark for me? I'll bring Roger down." Maria nodded and ran up to put her own things in her room before looking for her older brother.

James put the old textbook aside and headed upstairs himself to find Roger. The seven year old was in his room, fingering a picture of Sandra and himself on his third birthday. His backpack was next to him. The boy had likely just dumped his things on the floor and headed straight for the picture. Stopping in the doorway, James tilted his head and cleared his throat. When Roger looked up at him, James looked meaningfully at the pile of jacket and pack on top of what looked like pajamas.

"Once you've cleaned that up, come on downstairs," he told him. "I've got something to tell you all." Roger nodded and carefully put the picture back before bending to pick his jacket up. James watched him and, hearing the beginnings of trouble, went looking for his other children.

"Mark, please! I know you know. Tell me!" Maria was begging. Mark was lounging on the couch James had been reading on, probably to hide the spellbook, and he had a big smirk on his face.

"No way, 'Ria. You'll find out when Dad tells us, no sooner. I can't wait to see your face, though. It's gonna be great!" He predicted, enjoying the secret. James shook his head and wiped his own smile off. Maria would not appreciate seeing his amusement right now.

Interrupting Maria's latest "come on, Mark," James said "be nice, Mark. Just because you've known for about two days now while she hasn't even known there was something up is no reason to gloat." He bit his lip when his daughter narrowed her eyes.

"He's known that long? That's why he stayed home from school, isn't it? He wasn't sick at all! What's going on, Dad?"

"Something's up?" Roger asked, coming down. As expected, his curiosity had overcome his sadness.

"That's right, Roger. And no, Maria, Mark wasn't really sick, but he was very tired. That's what brought this on, actually. Come on, sit down." Once everyone had a seat and was focused on him, James continued. "You might not remember, Roger, but maybe you remember the bedtime stories I used to tell you, Maria?"

She nodded uncertainly. "About magic schools, right? And an evil wizard that killed a lot of people, good wizards that fought him. And there were unicorns, and flying broomsticks." James nodded encouragingly.

"Why don't I remember them, Daddy?" Roger asked. James winced.

"I stopped telling them when your mother got sick. I'm afraid I just didn't have the heart to talk about magic that could help people then. I didn't want any of you asking about that." Maria frowned.

"But you only needed to say that magic wasn't really real, Dad. It's not like there really are wizards that can heal with a wave of the wand," she pointed out. Mark's smirk came back. James shot him a warning look and shook his head.

"Actually, that would be a lie, Maria. The reason Mark was so tired the other day is that he discovered magic a few nights ago and exhausted himself playing with it."

"It's not like I knew I'd get magical exhaustion. I didn't think it was real," Mark grumbled, all traces of his smug attitude gone now. James grinned at him. Turning back to his younger children, he struggled, and failed, to pull the grin back in. Their faces were totally blank. Biting his lip, he went on.

"Toss me the book, Mark?" Once he had caught it, he handed it to Maria. "This is a textbook I bought for my first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – the school in the stories I told you. Those stories were about me, Maria." She tore her gaze from the old book at that and protested.

"But your stories were about a boy named Harry, Dad. Harry, and Ron, and Hermione," Harry winced at the name "and Professor Dumble – uh, Dumble …" she trailed off, trying to remember the name she hadn't heard in four years.

"Professor Dumbledore, actually. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. Well, the late Headmaster now. He died about seventeen years ago. I guess Professor McGonagall's the Headmistress these days. I think so, anyway. I haven't had any news from the wizarding world in sixteen years, honestly."

"Magic's really real?" Roger asked with wide eyes. Harry smiled down at him.

"Magic's really real, Roger. I'm a real wizard. I went to a magic school for six years, and I use a magic wand" he brought his out and held it before his awestruck son "to do magic. I haven't done much in a long time, though."

"Dad?" Mark interrupted. "Could magic have saved Mom?" Maria and Roger turned to their father at that. James winced again and sighed.

"I don't think so. Wizards and witches don't get the same sicknesses that muggles – non-magical people – get. I looked into it when we first heard your mother had cancer. There are some muggleborn wizards and witches trying to find a magical cure for cancer, but they haven't come up with anything yet. They can treat some of the symptoms, but really, the non-magical methods are still the best at it." All three children relaxed at this.

"Moving on," he continued, "all the stories I used to tell you three were actually stories from my life. Things I've seen, things I've done. Before you ask, Maria, I know the stories were about Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I changed my name when I was eighteen. My birth name is Harry James Potter. My legal name is James Nigel Lilson, though, and your names are your legal, real names. My parents were killed by an evil wizard named Voldemort when I was a baby. I was raised by my mother's sister and found out that I was a wizard when I was eleven. That's when I started going to Hogwarts. I made two wonderful friends there – Ron and Hermione" he ignored the stab of pain at the name once again "along with a few others. I fought Voldemort a few times, and when I was seventeen, I finally defeated him. But I didn't want to stay there, so I left and moved to New Jersey. I changed my name, stopped doing magic, and started going to college. I think you all know what happened then." Maria and Roger were still staring with wide eyes, and even Mark looked slightly awed, even though he had known a lot of this before.

Deciding to have some fun, Harry stood up. "Well, I think that's it. Maria, did you talk to Mark's teachers like I asked you to? Do you have his homework?" Her face fell.

"What? Dad, you can't just tell us that and move on!"

"Yeah Dad!" Roger agreed. "Show us some magic, Daddy!" Harry grinned and gave in.

"What would you like me to do?" Both started thinking hard, trying to pick their favorite magic trick. Mark spoke up.

"Can you make stuff come to you like I did, Dad?" James raised an eyebrow.

"Summoning? Alright, let's see …" He cast his eyes about, looking for something to summon. Eventually he decided to keep it simple, since he was a bit out of practice, and pointed his wand at the couch pillow. "Accio pillow!" It shot straight to him, and he bit back a smile of triumph. It seemed he was getting back into practice. He held onto the pillow, furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, and tried another spell.

"Wow!" Maria and Roger shouted when the pillow not only flew into their father's hand, but then changed color and jumped over to them and began spinning in front of them. Maria grabbed it and it grew still. They looked in astonishment at James, who flicked his wand at the curtains. They quickly came together, hiding the windows from view. Then he pointed his wand at the chair he had vacated.

"Wingardium leviosa!" He chanted, and the chair obediently floated up. Roger clapped his hands in appreciation.

"Make me fly Dad!" James shook his head, smiling still.

"I'd rather not, son. I'm a bit out of practice – I might drop you." Ignoring Roger's disappointed face, he dropped the chair and reversed his charms on the pillow. Then he turned to Mark. "Do you have your wand on you?" Mark shook his head and ran to get it.

"Mark has a wand, too?" Maria asked. "How come he has one? Can I get one?"

"Mark and I went to Diagon Alley today – that's a wizarding shopping area. If he can do magic, he needs to learn how to control it. If we hadn't been moving at the time, he probably would have been invited to Hogwarts when he was eleven to learn, but as it is, I think I'll teach him or look for a private tutor for him. If either of you can do magic, then you'll get a letter when you turn eleven. You can get a wand then," he explained. Maria pouted.

"But that's a whole year away!"

"And it's four years away for Roger. Don't worry; I'm sure you're both magical. Both my parents were, and magic tends to stay in families."

"Could Mom do magic?" Roger asked, which was logical enough, James supposed. He shook his head and would have gone on, but then Mark came back with his wand in hand. Maria and Roger looked enviously at it.

"Can I try magic now?" Mark asked excitedly.

"Yes. I'm not sure yet if I'll be teaching you or if we can get a tutor, but a few spells shouldn't hurt. Only a few, though. I don't want you getting magically exhausted again."

"Why did that happen? You did a lot of magic, and you're fine." Maria asked.

"Normally, magical children start learning when they're eleven, and they start small – I didn't even learn to levitate until after two months of studying magic, and levitating is one of the simplest spells. The summoning charm – which is what Mark discovered magic with – isn't normally taught until after three years of study, so it isn't that surprising that Mark was very tired after doing only that for hours.

"Now, Mark. We're going to start with the light spell. The spell is 'lumos'" a small ball of light appeared at the tip of Harry's wand, "and it's pretty easy. Give it a try." Mark did, and was quickly rewarded with a similar ball of light. "Now put it out with 'nox.'" Both balls of light went out, one after the other. Mark grinned widely at his first bit of wand-magic. He repeated the experiment about three times before James interrupted. They moved on to levitation then, but Mark struggled with that a bit more. James had found him a feather to practice with, but the feather only twitched, no matter how perfectly Mark swished, flicked, and chanted. Eventually James convinced him to take a break, at which point he persuaded Maria to stop reading _Magical Theory_ to Roger and fetch Mark's missed assignments. Soon afterwards, the family was back to normal activities; though all three children continued to regularly ask for another magic show or to sneak into James' room to look at the magical items sitting innocently on his bed.

* * *

Percy Weasley groaned when he heard the insistent beeping. There was only one alarm in the Hall of Records, and it usually stopped just seconds after going off, but this one had been going off fairly frequently today. He was supposed to be organizing the minutes of Death Eater trials so the Ministry could finally seal them off and be done with that, and he had been doing this for three days now, ever since the last Death Eater trial finally finished. The entire wizarding world had been excited to hear that all Death Eaters had finally been caught and put on trial for their crimes during Voldemort's first and second rises, but somehow only Percy was willing to organize the trial files. Now, after three days in the Hall of Records, he was pretty sure he knew why.

The Hall of Records contained documents of every trial, every meeting, every wedding, every birth and death certificate, and many other things. It also recorded magic performed in muggle areas to assist in the enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy. Unfortunately, some idiot in the Ministry had decided long ago that magic performed in all-muggle areas should always be investigated, so an alarm went off every time a traveling wizard performed even the tiniest bit of magic in a muggle town. No one knew how to stop the alarm from going off, and it couldn't be silenced, so most people simply avoided the Hall now. The beeping was just too annoying. Especially on days like today, when someone was apparently performing quite a bit of magic

The alarm went off again for the third time in five minutes. Grumbling, Percy got up and stalked over to the source: a large book that wrote the owner of the wand casting the spells and the location of the magic. He was going to track down the wizard and force him to move out of the muggle neighborhood, and then he would –

Percy blinked in shock at the name in the book. Apparently there were two wizards casting regular spells together, but one of them had to be wrong. After all, there was no way that particular wand could be casting spells anywhere. Harry Potter's wand had broken sixteen years ago, a few months before Harry Potter himself had died.

* * *

Author's Note: What do you think? I'm finally bringing new characters in! I'm having a difficult time pinning down the kids' personalities, though, so please forgive me if the kids all seem a bit generic.

Please read and review!


	4. Chapter 4: Another Life

Chapter 4: Another Life

James did his best to bite back a smile. Maria and Roger had woken up early, gotten dressed, prepared their lunches, and gotten their breakfasts together without any of his assistance. It seemed they were doing everything they could to prove that they were little angels deserving rewards, and he thought he knew what they were after. They had spent the majority of yesterday afternoon and evening begging to see magic and pestering Mark for details of his visit to Diagon Alley. Mark had been very good about it; he told them what they wanted to hear and didn't gloat too much about his superior knowledge. He had refused to try any spells without James' approval and supervision, though, for which James was grateful. He wasn't sure that he was up to undoing any magical accidents.

Mark, unlike his younger siblings, was treating this morning like any other school day. James had made sure that Mark wouldn't try to take his wand or anything else magical to school and extracted a promise not to experiment or even hint at a secret with his friends. Mark had agreed to the rules easily enough, telling his father that he wouldn't have time, anyway. He hadn't managed to complete all of his make-up work last night and would likely spend all of his free time working on the leftover work and copying missed notes. James believed him; Mark was the most studious of all his children and was prone to doing as much work ahead of time as possible just in case he wouldn't have time later. Sandra had always blamed their son's love of books and academics on James, who had accepted the guilt outwardly. Privately, though, he had no clue where Mark's school-oriented tendencies came from. He had always been slightly lazy when it came to schoolwork and hadn't spent much time studying until he went to America, and that was due more to a need to catch up and fit in than a drive to excel. Mark, he thought, had probably come up with his academic nature all by himself. He would have made a good Ravenclaw, Harry mused.

"Dad?" Maria interrupted his musings. She had finished her cereal and was scrupulously washing her dishes by hand, James noticed, hiding a grin.

"Yeah, sweetie?" This was probably what he had been waiting for since he had found her bed made this morning. Maria hated making her bed.

"You know how you and Mark went to Diagon Alley yesterday?" After he nodded, she went on. "Well, Roger and I were wondering if we could go today. Not to buy a wand or anything, just to see. Please? Can we?" Yep. This was it.

"I don't think so. We're heading to the dentist after school today, remember?" Roger made a face – he hated the dentist – at that and gave Maria his cereal bowl and spoon to wash while he started drying her bowl. Mark stifled a laugh, probably realizing what the kids were up to with their diligence. James sternly told his facial muscles that laughing at his children was not okay and managed to keep his expression friendly and helpful. "I don't think we could fit a trip to London in, today."

"We could go to Diagon Alley instead of the dentist," Roger suggested hopefully. That was probably how Maria had persuaded Roger to go along with her plan. James shook his head, though. It was a good plan, but it wouldn't work.

"Sorry, Roger. I'm afraid the dentist wouldn't be too pleased with that. Now, the Johnsons will be here soon. Is everyone ready?" While Roger morosely nodded, Mark glanced at the clock, startled, and bolted the rest of his breakfast. He dumped the bowl in the sink and dashed upstairs to finish getting ready.

"I'm almost ready!" He assured them while running from bedroom to bathroom. James could soon hear running water while watching Maria try to create Plan B.

"What if we just didn't go to school today, Dad? Then we could be back from Diagon Alley in time for the dentist! I can ask Annie for any work I miss? And Mark could still go to school – he's already been there. Please, Dad?" she begged. James remained firm, though. He could see why this was Plan B, though. Roger grew hopeful again. That's right, James remembered. His class would be making Mothering Sunday gifts today. Of course Roger would want to avoid that.

"Nope. Nice try, though," he assured his daughter. "Now get your things together."

"I'm already ready," she sulked. James considered that. It was true that Maria and Roger had done a remarkable job this morning. Normally he had to push and nag to get them moving in the mornings, and Maria's bed didn't usually get made until after school at least. And Roger had managed to get dressed and put his lunch together by himself, which James didn't even bother expecting of him.

"How about this, then. You two managed to get ready pretty quickly this morning. So if you get your homework for the weekend done before dinner tonight, then we can visit the Alley tomorrow. Will that work?" He had been planning to do it anyway, so he had no trouble making the offer. And if it got their homework done early, then it was a definite plus.

"Okay!" His kids shouted gleefully.

"They're here!" Mark announced, grabbing his bag and opening the door. "Bye Dad!" Maria and Roger grabbed their backpacks and moved to follow. Maria gave James a hug and a "love you Dad – bye!" before rushing out to meet Annie Johnson, and then James knelt down to talk to Roger.

"You're going to be okay at school today, right?" He had talked to Roger last night, but he wanted to be sure. Roger nodded, still too hyped with the idea of visiting magical stores to be glum at the day's prospects. "Alright, then. Have fun." He gave his son a hug and sent him out the door. Roger ran to catch up with Maria and shouted a goodbye over his shoulder. James straightened, smiling, and watched the car drive off. The Johnson family lived two blocks down and had children the same ages as Mark and Maria. Since James was usually at the police station when the kids got out of school, Mrs. Johnson usually picked them all up. They had started off trading days of driving, but Mrs. Johnson had put her foot down after the first month. It was easier, she said, if she did the school driving and he drove for anything else. James had gratefully agreed. That had been only two months after they had move to England and he had still been recovering from Sandra's death and his return to his native country, so he appreciated having extra time in the morning to himself. Now, two years later, the arrangement was routine. Mark and Maria loved having extra time to talk to their best friends and Roger loved everything that Mark loved, and James preferred leisurely preparing for the day, since he usually went to the station around nine – half an hour after the kids had to be at school.

Once the car had left the street, his smile faded and he moved back into the kitchen. He had spoken with Roger for almost an hour last night. They had talked about Sandra and Mothering Sunday, and Roger had explained that his teacher said they would be making picture frames as presents for their mums on Friday. Roger hadn't liked the reminder that his mother was dead, and it had only gotten worse when his classmates had started talking about all the things they were doing for their mothers to celebrate. James had comforted him and reminded him that his friends hadn't meant to hurt his feelings and probably hadn't even realized that what they were saying would have hurt him. He suggested making the picture frame anyway, pointing out that Sandra would have loved it, and promised to find a good picture of mother and son to put in the picture frame. Roger liked the idea, and that had been that. Hopefully it would help him hold it together today.

Even though Roger had known Sandra the least amount of time and remembered less than Mark or Maria, he still had the hardest time dealing with her death. He hadn't understood what was going on at the time, only that Mommy had stopped playing with him as much and then stopped entirely. Then she was gone. Everyone had a hard time with it, but Mark and Maria at least had understood what breast cancer was and why their mother had died. Roger understood better now, but he had been a momma's boy and had never had much control over his emotions. James suspected that Roger missed more the idea of a mum now, not his actual mother, but it didn't really matter. He could only hope that his son would eventually come to terms with it.

Finished with the dishes he and Mark had left in the sink, James picked up the newspaper and moved to the couch to read it. By nine o'clock, he had made his way through all but the obituaries, the classifieds, and the sports and was looking for something else to do. He had just decided to visit the police station and see what he could do when the doorbell rang.

Opening the door curiously, he looked at his visitors and was struck dumb. How had they known? One of them began speaking immediately.

"Good morning. My name is –" Harry interrupted him.

"How did you know I was here?" Talk about coincidences. He had just begun thinking about contacting them, and here they were on his doorstep!

"What are – Merlin's beard," Ron Weasley breathed out. "Harry? Is that really you?"

"It's me," Harry confirmed. He forced a smile onto his face. "Come on in." After Ron, Percy, and Remus filed in, all of them staring in wonder at Harry, Harry closed the door behind them and gestured for them to take a seat. "I ask again," he continued. "How did you guys know I was here? I mean, Ollivander said I was declared dead a while ago, but I thought he was going to let me change that. Did he tell you?" Ron and Remus were still too shocked to answer, but Percy managed to pull himself together.

"We didn't know it was you here – just your wand. I was working in the Hall of Records yesterday, and the alarm went off. It goes off whenever magic is used in all-muggle areas," Percy explained when Harry gave him a confused look. "I investigated the alarm and saw that it was your wand doing it. I figured it was some wizard that had found a random wand and was trying it out. I had no clue that it was really you. But I mentioned it at home, and suddenly these two were coming with me to see if we could find out what really happened to you." Remus, who by this point had recovered (at least visibly) from the shock, as had Ron, leaned forward.

"What did happen, Harry? One minute we were all fighting – Tonks and I were losing, actually – and then suddenly all the Death Eaters stopped. It looked like they were either in pain or in total shock. We took advantage and Stunned them all, of course, and then when we investigated, we found Voldemort and that snake lying dead in the Forest. But you weren't there and we couldn't find any trace of you. Eventually the Ministry declared the search for you over and said you were probably dead. But," he shook his head in disbelief, "what happened?"

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. "To make a long story short, Remus, I surrendered to Voldemort in exchange for everybody else, he tried to kill me, it didn't work, he tried again at the same time I tried to Disarm him, the spells met and his backfired on him. He died, I didn't."

Ron shook his head. "First of all, Harry, no one asked for the short version. You're going to explain all of that in detail later. First, though, tell me this." He stared right into Harry's eyes, as if trying to pull the answers out of his head. "Why did you leave?"

Harry shrugged. "A bunch of reasons, really. I was tired, I wasn't thinking straight, but the biggest reason, Ron? I couldn't handle the grief. I needed to get away – grieve alone for a while."

Ron stared at him. "Grieve? You wanted to cry because Voldemort was dead? What are you talking about?" Harry stared right back. How did he not understand?

"Voldemort? Why would I be upset because Voldemort was finally dead? I'm talking about Hermione and Ginny, Ron! I watched Hermione die, I saw Mrs. Weasley crying over Ginny's body, and I couldn't handle it, Ron! It was stupid and cowardly, and I'm sorry, but –" Harry choked back a sob. Never, never in the past sixteen years had he said those names. It hurt just to think about them and it hurt even more to say their names and talk about their deaths, but he had to say it, now that he had the chance. "I'm sorry, Ron, Percy. I should have finished it earlier. If I had just gone to Voldemort even ten minutes earlier, I could probably have saved them. I'm so sorry." He couldn't speak anymore. Nothing else was getting out of his throat. He held the tears back through years of practice and force of will, and tried to look up at the men whose little sister he had loved and let die, at his best friend who had loved the girl Harry had watched die. He couldn't. He hung his head in shame and sorrow, unable to face them.

A hand gripped his shoulder. "Harry," Ron whispered. "Are you saying, that all these years, you've thought that – Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry. I never dreamed you might have thought that." Harry's confusion finally let him look up.

"What do you mean? What are you saying, Ron?"

"Hermione and Ginny are alive, Harry. They're alive and they're fine. Yeah, Hermione was almost hit by a nasty curse, but she dodged, Harry. She just lost her balance and fell while getting out of the curse's way, that's all. And yeah, Ginny was hit badly, and Mum thought she was dead for a minute or two, but a Healer got to her in time and Ginny was fully recovered about a week later. She's alive, Harry." Ron squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him, but all Harry could do was stare. They were alive?

"It's true, Harry," Remus assured him. "I saw both of them last night, and I spoke to Hermione briefly this morning. They're alive and well."

"I can definitely vouch for Hermione's health, mate. She and I have two kids, and I assure you that she is in very good health – she's running after those two almost all the time and is yelling at them to behave the rest of the time." Harry managed a shaky grin at that.

"I definitely know what that's like," Harry agreed.

Remus blinked and grinned. "Oh really?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Harry grinned back, on surer ground now that the topic had changed. "Yes – I have three kids. My sons are thirteen and seven, and my daughter's ten." He stood up and grabbed a family picture from last summer. "Here you go. This is Mark, that's Maria, and here's Roger." Remus took the frame and studied it for a moment before passing it to Ron and Percy.

"Where's your wife, though?" Percy asked, noting the absence in the picture. James winced and sat down again.

"My wife, Sandra, died about three years ago from breast cancer." Chagrin flashed across Percy's face as the other two men looked up in shock and sympathetic sadness.

"Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry. I hadn't realized, I mean –" Percy shook his head, unable to find the right words.

James smiled ruefully. "You didn't know. Don't worry about it. I had over eleven great years with her, and I do have my kids still. It helps, too, that we moved two years ago. Before we moved, I stumbled over her memory every time I took a step. It's easier now." Before the others could offer more words of sympathy, Harry moved on. "How about you two?" He gestured at Remus and Percy. "I know you and Tonks had a baby, Remus – any more? How is, ah, Teddy, was it?" Remus shook his head, smiling. "And now I know Ron and Hermione," Harry grinned, remembering that Hermione was alive, "are married with kids, but what about you Percy?"

Percy smiled. "I don't believe you ever met her, but my wife's name is Audrey. She and I have been married for about ten years now, and we have two daughters. I still work in the Ministry, though I have moved up. I won't bore you with details about my work, though."

Ron snickered. "Yeah, he's still dead boring when it comes to anything about work. He's stopped going on about cauldron bottoms, though!" Percy glared at his brother, but Harry and Remus joined Ron in his laughter. "And since we're talking about jobs now, Hermione replaced Binns, Harry. She teaches History of Magic and has managed to get both students' interest and grades up. No clue what happened to Binns, though. And I'm an Auror, so she and I both have the jobs we've wanted. She gets to work with her books, and I get to take care of all the idiot Slytherins that think they can get away with something."

Remus shook his head at Ron's maintained prejudice. "He also catches a fair number of non-Slytherins, and yet every time he explains his job, he always manages to forget that. Oh well. Tonks and Kingsley do a good job keeping him from singling out the Slytherins, and Hermione and I have fun laughing at their efforts. I teach Defense against the Dark Arts, by the way. And Teddy and Tonks are both well."

"You got the post again?" Harry asked, impressed. "I didn't think anyone could hold that position for more than a year. How'd you do it?"

Remus smiled. "I'm not sure, really. But I've been teaching for about ten years now and haven't had any problems with it. Perhaps there never was a jinx after all." Harry shook his head thoughtfully.

"Dumbledore showed me a memory, once, of Voldemort applying for the Defense position. Dumbledore said no, and Voldemort got really angry at him. Dumbledore says he wasn't able to get anyone to stay on for more than a year after that. That's about fifty years, Remus. I think there really was a jinx. I guess it ended when the caster died." Harry shrugged.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "And that brings us back to you explaining yourself, Harry. Properly this time. What happened between you and Voldemort? And what have you been up to since?"

Harry sighed. "Alright then. You know Voldemort told everyone that if I surrendered, he would let everyone else live. I know," he held up a hand to forestall protests, "I know he was lying, but I wasn't going to let him go on a rampage. Besides, I had an idea that Dumbledore had been planning for this. I found Snape a little before then, and it turns out he was on our side after all. He, well, it's complicated, but he was acting on Dumbledore's orders the whole time, and he managed to give me some of his memories before he died. I figured out what Dumbledore was planning that way. It turns out that Voldemort made one last horcrux, accidentally. Me. And as long as I was alive, Voldemort wouldn't be able to die. That's why I surrendered to Voldemort. I had told Neville that if he got the chance, he needed to kill Nagini, and I figured that with all of his horcruxes gone, you guys could kill Voldemort for good. But, well, apparently when he cast the Killing Curse at me, it only killed the horcrux in me. So I was able to survive it again. It knocked me out for a bit, though. I woke up right after he ordered Nagini to see if I was alive. Once Nagini got close to me, though, I used that basilisk fang you guys gave me" he nodded to Ron here, "and stabbed her. She died, Voldemort got ticked, and he and I, uh, argued, I guess. I told him that he wouldn't be able to kill me." Harry sighed, thinking about it. "Ron, do you remember when we were talking about the Deathly Hallows?" Ron nodded, a little confused. "Well, it turns out that my invisibility cloak was the one from the story – the one Death gave the third brother. And Dumbledore found the Resurrection Stone and put it in that snitch he gave me, and I managed to get it out before I made it to Voldemort. And the wand, well. Dumbledore's wand was really the Elder Wand, and Draco Malfoy was the one who stole it from him, and when I took Malfoy's wand, I guess I became the master of the Elder Wand, too."

"No way," Ron breathed. "You had the Deathly Hallows together! You're their master! And a wand won't work properly against its master, so –" He shook his head in wonder.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "So when Voldemort tried to kill me again, the wand rebelled and killed him instead. And, uh, that's what happened, really." He glanced at their faces and looked down again, not liking the awe he saw there.

"Fascinating," Remus said. "I wish I had been there. So you defeated Voldemort, but you thought that Ginny and Hermione were dead. So you left?"

Harry nodded. "I apparated away, but I was so tired I barely managed to get past Hogsmeade. I fell asleep as soon as I finished apparating, and I woke up in a little village. I had no clue where I was, and I still don't know, but I stayed there until my magic was back to normal, and then I apparated to America. I – like I said before, I just wanted to get away and mourn for a little, and I wanted to be alone for that. America was as far away as I could think of, so I went there."

"You must be joking," Percy said. "No one can apparate internationally."

Harry shrugged. "It's a good thing I only tried to get across the ocean, then. I ended up in New Jersey, the smallest state with probably the densest population in the US. I decided to try living like a muggle for a while – I thought being busy was the best thing for me at the time, and muggles are really good at being busy. So I took some online classes until I got a high school diploma, and then I applied for a few colleges. There's a branch of Gringotts there, and I used money from my vault to pay for tuition, housing, groceries – just about everything. I took a part-time job, too. I made it into Princeton University and started taking classes. I wasn't really thinking about the future – I just kept doing what all the muggles my age were doing as long as it kept me busy. I worked hard to keep my grades up; Princeton offered me a scholarship as long as I kept my grades high, so I was studying all the time.

"That's when I met Sandra," he continued. He stood up again to put the family picture back and grabbed a photo of Sandra instead. He showed it to his guests, put it back, and went on. "She loved making friends and having fun, and I think she considered it a personal insult when I just kept studying and ignoring everybody. She started just dropping by my apartment and talking to me between classes until I started talking back to her. Next thing I knew, she and I were hanging out every other night, and then we were dating, and then we were married." He smiled, remembering his outrage when he found out that his roommate kept letting her into his apartment, and how much she had laughed when her engagement ring had come with a key. "I never intentionally stayed away from you guys, but well, I just never managed to find the time to come back here and get in touch. And I didn't know how to go about explaining magic to Sandra, so I just kept pretending magic wasn't real. I suppose, in the back of my head somewhere, I planned to come back once the kids were grown and find you all, but then Sandra was sick, and well," he sighed, shaking his head. Looking ruefully up at his old friends, he concluded with "Then Mark discovered how to summon things this Tuesday. I actually just started explaining magic to Maria and Roger yesterday and bought Mark his wand. That's probably what set the alarm off, Percy. The kids were asking me to do magic just about every five minutes last night."

Remus frowned. "I thought you said your oldest boy was thirteen. Shouldn't he have started learning magic a few years ago?"

Harry shrugged. "Perhaps. I think he slipped under the radar, though. We were moving when he turned eleven, so I think the American school and Hogwarts both thought the other school would invite him. And Mark's always had excellent control of his emotions, so I suppose he never really did any accidental magic, either. Which reminds me," he said, turning to Remus and Percy. "Mark doesn't really want to switch schools again, so I was wondering if there's a way I can get a tutor for him – to teach him what he would be learning at Hogwarts. Is there some system for that?"

Percy furrowed his eyebrows. "I believe so. Nothing too organized, but there are a number of tutors you could approach. As long as he takes the OWLs before he turns seventeen it should be alright. You could probably get a list of names from Headmistress McGonagall." Harry nodded.

"I'll do that, then. Thanks." Hopefully he wouldn't have to explain everything again when he saw Professor McGonagall. Or when he went to the Ministry to confirm that he was in fact alive. He grimaced. Something told him that wouldn't be easy.

* * *

Author's Note: Whew! This chapter took me forever to get out! Sorry about the long wait. I'm hoping that it won't be so long between chapters again, but you never know.

Speaking of chapters, what do you think of this one? Sorry about all the dialogue, but I needed to get everyone on the same page and get the explanation done. Hopefully you're not totally dazed by all the talking.

Yes, I kept Remus and Tonks alive. I know, it's another deviation from canon, but I have an excuse! Harry revealed that he was still alive earlier in this fic, since Voldemort was alone when Harry found him except for Nagini, and Nagini wasn't about to lie like Narcissa did. So Voldemort died earlier (no awesome sunrise scene, though - sad), saving Remus and Tonks. The awesome Bellatrix vs. Molly fight did happen, though - after Bellatrix hit Ginny, ticking off "Mother Tiger" Weasley. It was right after that fight that Harry saw Molly crying over Ginny's 'dead' body.

Anyway, please read and review! Tell me what you think; should I change anything, should I fix certain parts, is it too dry, tell me! I can't get better without feedback, I live on feedback!


	5. Chapter 5: A Long Anticipated Reunion

Chapter 5: A Long Anticipated Reunion

Godric's Hollow had changed. Well, he supposed it was only natural for it to have changed; it had been over sixteen years since he had last seen it, and quite a bit had happened since then. Besides, it wasn't like change was a bad thing or anything. Not all the time, anyway.

He stopped in front of Ariana Dumbledore's grave, to once again read the inscription. _Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also_. Yes, that was very, very true. His heart was in many places these days, fragments broken off and left behind when the rest of him moved on, and each of those places contained one of his treasures. One such fragment lay in a grave in New York.

He used to think there were other fragments, irreparably broken off and fallen somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts, but it seemed he would be able to repair those breaks. Ginny and Hermione were alive. They were alive, and he could stop grieving for them. He didn't bother containing the smile that lifted his face at the thought.

His visit to his parents' house and graves over, Harry checked again for onlookers, found no one, and disapparated. The kids would be awake soon, and they would need to hurry to be on time.

* * *

"Are we there yet?" Maria whined. James grinned to himself. Mark had asked that question about fifty times in the first hour of driving, specifically to tease his little sister, who had indignantly informed her father that she would _not_ ask him that at all. _She_ was ten years old, and her days of asking "are we there yet" every ten minutes were completely over. That had lasted about three hours.

"Nearly," he assured her. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he grinned again as Maria's face shot from the window to stare incredulously at him and even Roger stopped admiring his new foam picture frame to look up at the thought of an end to the driving. James continued, bringing his eyes back to the road. Two years of driving in England were only barely enough to overcome ten years of driving in the US, and he had to concentrate to keep from drifting back to the right side of the road (which is no longer the right way to drive, he reminded himself). "This village we're driving through? This is Ottery St. Catchpole, and the Burrow is just a few minutes beyond the village."

"The Burrow?" Mark asked. "Do they have a bunch of rabbits?"

James laughed. "No, but many wizards will name their house. It makes it easier for floo travel, since that relies on names. The Weasley family calls their home the Burrow. They don't all live there now, of course – the family's gotten too big – but it's a good place for family gatherings, so that's where we're having lunch."

"I can't believe we drove four hours to have lunch," Maria grumbled. "Why couldn't we have met them in London – we could have gone to Diagon Alley again!" The kids had enjoyed their time at Diagon Alley. They had spent about three hours there, mostly just browsing with only a few small purchases for the kids to have as souvenirs.

"We're not just having lunch," Mark reminded his sister, rolling his eyes. "Remember? All of Dad's old friends are going to be there, and he hasn't seen any of them since he moved to New Jersey. It's going to be a reunion, and reunions usually have food, and are at actual homes, not shopping centers."

"Besides," Roger piped up, "they're all going to be magic, so we're going to get to see lots of magic, won't we Dad?"

"Probably," James agreed. "Mrs. Weasley typically prefers conjuring long tables at big gatherings, and they have a bunch of magical items around the house. It'll be fun, Maria. And there'll be kids there, too, I understand. You won't be bored." He was pretty excited for this. The Weasleys were practically his foster family when he was a teenager, and Ron had promised to invite some of their old school friends. Mark was right; this was going to be a family reunion of sorts, and Harry couldn't wait. His excitement increased dramatically when he saw the familiar driveway and messy yard. He felt like he had come home.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!" Harry looked up and smiled widely when he saw the woman racing out to his car. For a moment, he had a powerful sense of déjà vu – this was how Hermione had always greeted him in the past. He stepped away from the car door to receive her hug. He fought back tears while he hugged her back; his kids did not need to see him crying, not today.

"It's great to see you, Hermione. Let me tell you, I am very glad to see that you're not dead," he said, hoping the humor would drive away the tears he could feel in his eyes and see in hers. She laughed shakily and released him.

"The feeling is definitely mutual, Harry. Oh, when Ron told me that they had found you in Essex, I couldn't believe it at first. It took me nearly thirty minutes to understand what he was saying, and then I spent the rest of the day pinching myself. I still can hardly believe you're here!" Harry heard a laugh and turned slightly. Ron was approaching and grinning.

"Actually, I almost thought she was going to faint, at first. Hey, Harry."

"Hey Ron," Harry grinned back, glad for the casual greeting.

Hermione moved to Ron's side and wrapped an arm around him. "I'm assuming, Harry, that Ron's told we're married?"

Harry nodded. "He did, actually, though I must say, the only shock about that was the lingering one from being told you were alive. I would have been more surprised if you hadn't gotten married. Speaking of which," Harry gestured to Mark, Maria, and Roger, who were standing on the other side of the car, watching. They came over to him. "These are my children. Mark, Maria, Roger, this is Ron and Hermione Weasley. They were my best friends before I moved to New Jersey."

"Hi!" Maria chirped, with Mark echoing her. Roger stared up at them quietly for a minute until Mark nudged him, at which point he also mumbled a greeting. Hermione and Ron responded with the universal attitude of parents to a friend's children.

"Oh! And here we are just standing around, when you have probably been driving for hours. Come on to the back. All of the Weasleys are here, Harry, and the Lupins, but nobody else yet." She led the way to the back. Mark and Maria grabbed the food they had brought before they followed, and James made sure that Roger left the picture frame and his game player in the car before he locked it and joined the migration.

"Who else is coming?" He asked. "You mentioned inviting Neville and Luna, anyone else?"

"No, that's it," Ron assured him. "We weren't really sure who else to invite, so we just kept it small. Well, assuming anything involving the Weasley family can be small. There are over twenty of us now, you know." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Twenty-two, to be exact" Hermione clarified. "And all of us are here. Luna and her family won't be, though. Apparently the twins are a little sick, and it's taking both Luna and Rolf to handle them. But the Longbottoms will be here, probably in a couple of hours."

"Well, look who's here!" Harry looked away from Hermione, forgetting his next question, to look up and smile at Molly Weasley. "Harry dear, it's so good to see you!" She gathered him into a hug.

The next half-hour was spent largely in greetings. After ten minutes of trying to introduce the Weasleys and Lupins to the Lilson children and vice-versa, Remus suggested a mass introduction, which worked much better. At Harry's request, he and his children were introduced by first names only. He wasn't sure exactly how he wanted to come back to life, so to speak, but he knew he didn't want it to be due to an excited ten-year-old telling all of her friends about the ghost of Harry Potter, who came to her family get-together.

Neville and Hannah, with their two children, arrived about an hour and a half after Harry and his family. Both of them had changed quite a bit, Harry realized quickly. Neville taught Herbology and looked nothing like the timid eleven-year-old he once was. Hannah was the new proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron and was as skillful as Molly at handling large numbers of starving Weasleys. They had come with three baskets more of food, and Hannah had managed to distribute the contents in such a way that no one was left disappointed.

James had worried, initially, that his children would be overwhelmed by the large amount of strangers and would end up either staying close to each other on the outskirts of the gathering or clinging to him. To his surprise and pleasure, however, all three of them had gotten over their awkwardness fairly quickly. He suspected that it was largely due to the many children all their own age and the atmosphere of welcome and playfulness created by that indomitable Weasley spirit.

Mark had managed to form a strong bond with Percy's daughter Molly pretty quickly when he caught her trying to juggle a full plate, cup, and large book. He saved the book from death by spilling drink and carried it to her seat. Soon both of them had abandoned their food in favor of trading favorite titles. Molly introduced him to the other cousins around their age, and he was quickly engrossed in the conversations, particularly the parts about the magical world. They had in turn been impressed by his "discovery" of magic and were disappointed when he revealed his decision to stay in his muggle school. Fred in particular wanted him to come to Hogwarts, insisting that "there weren't enough boys in their year."

Maria had made friends out of all the children her age within an hour, as was typical for the friendly girl. It turned out that there were two girls that would be going to Hogwarts the same year as her and two children that had just finished their first year and were willing to tell all. The Weasley children were fascinated by her description of muggle games and they spent two hours hanging on Maria's every word in order to learn the new games.

Roger had spent the first hour shadowing his father, but Hugo (Ron and Hermione's younger child) and Arthur (Ginny's son) eventually drew him off to watch the older kids play and make some of their own games. He became very excited when Alyssa came with her parents, carrying pots of strange plants she wanted to show off. Roger and Alyssa eventually sought out their fathers for permission to transplant some less obviously magical plants to the Lilson garden and were elated when the permission was granted. The other children in the age group, upon hearing this, immediately clamored to be allowed to join in the play date. The adults agreed to consider it and work on another day for them to get together.

Assured that his children were all settling in well, Harry fully relaxed and enjoyed the company. It was hard to believe that he was really in such a setting. Just a week ago he had been going through life as usual. It had been weeks since he had thought about Hogwarts, months since he had considered casting a spell, and a year since he had wondered if any of his kids were magical. Only four days ago he was trying to fight back his grief for Hermione and Ginny. And now here he was, surrounded by people he hadn't seen in nearly seventeen years, laughing and catching up. It was a wonderful, heady, and yet surreal feeling.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his arm. "Ouch!" he cried, looking for the source. It was Ron, who was grinning at him. "What was that for?"

"You look like you think you're dreaming. That hurt, so that means this is real. Just wanted to remind you," he said innocently.

"And what makes you think I'm thinking that?" Harry demanded, trying to remember if Ron was this perceptive when they were teenagers. He hadn't thought so, but …

"I feel the same way. I've been pinching myself about five times a day since Friday morning, so I know what that look on your face means," Ron explained. Yeah, that made much more sense than Ron being sensitive to other people's feelings.

"It's just so weird," Harry said, trying to put his emotions to words. "I don't think I've felt this dazed since Hagrid told me I was a wizard. I mean, yeah I've been startled since then, and there's been some major changes, but normally I have time to prepare. But the past few days – I just can't believe it's really happening."

"Well, trust me mate, this is real. But I can pinch you again, if you're still having trouble with it," he offered. Harry grimaced at him.

"No thank you," he told the red-headed man. Growing serious again, Harry set his pumpkin juice (he had had fun watching his kids' reactions to the main drink of the afternoon) to the side and sighed. His eyes found Ginny again. Her six-year-old son Arthur had gone to her for a quick hug before returning to his friends, and she was watching him play with a smile on her lips.

"Ginny had a hard time dealing with things after you disappeared," Ron told him quietly, seeing the direction of his gaze. "She was always looking out the window or the door, as if she thought you'd be walking by and she'd miss you if she didn't have her eye out. Even after the Ministry announced that you were dead twelve years ago, she took forever to believe it. She finally started dating again about two years after that, and even then it was hard to get her to smile much. Seamus, though, he worked on her for about a year before she married him. He died about a month after she found out she was pregnant. He was an Auror, and some dark wizards ambushed a bunch of them. I wasn't there, but I understand he took out a few of them before they got him. I think Art's the only reason she kept herself together after that."

Harry looked down. He had wondered who her husband was, but hadn't been able to work up the courage to ask. It seemed Ginny had had an even harder time than that. At least he and Sandra had had over a decade together, and he had had the months before her death to prepare for that. Ginny had had neither. She hadn't even been able to know if he was alive or dead for all those years, making it even worse.

Ron went on. "After we left your house on Friday, the first thing I did was go home and tell Hermione that you were alive. It took me a half-hour to persuade her that I wasn't crazy, and then Percy and I went and told Ginny. Harry, I haven't seen her that happy since we were teenagers. She's been smiling ever since."

"I know what that's like," Harry said with a fond smile. He had been grinning like a fool nearly all day Friday after it sunk in that Ginny and Hermione were alive. It had taken nearly all of his self-control to keep himself from apparating to the Burrow that very day and going to look for them to see for himself. Only the thought that he had to be there for his children had held him back, really.

"Go talk to her," Ron urged. "You've been avoiding each other nearly the entire time, but you've both been looking at each other for the past three hours. You're a Gryffindor, Harry. Take that Gryffindor courage in hand and go talk to her!"

Harry nearly smiled at the order, but his mouth didn't quite manage it. When Ron shoved him, though, he submitted and walked over to the girl he once considered the most important thing in his life.

"Ginny?" he called as he came close to her. She looked up and smiled at him, but it looked strained. He ignored that in favor of continuing. "Hey. Do you mind if I sit here?" He pulled a nearby empty chair closer, but didn't sit down.

"No, go ahead," she answered. As he obeyed, her smile began to look more natural. "I think I said it when you first came, but really, I am very glad to see you, Harry."

"The feeling's mutual," he replied, smiling back. "How, uh," he coughed and tried again. "How've you been? I mean, well," he wasn't phrasing the question properly, but he supposed that was understandable, since he wasn't quite sure what he was trying to ask in the first place. Fortunately, it seemed she was.

"I'm alright," she said. "Better now that I know you're alive, certainly. How about you?"

"The same, I guess," he shrugged. "There have been ups and downs, but I think that describes life in general, so I suppose it's not the best description, but, well." He shrugged again.

"No, that's an accurate description, I think," she responded, smiling again. "Has anyone told you what I've been doing the past seven or eight years?"

"Ron told me about Seamus," Harry said carefully. "I was sorry to hear about it. He was a good friend." Her smile turned wistful.

"Yes, he was. Losing him – hurt. That was definitely a down. But I had my family, and then Art was born, and he's always an up." She looked at him, biting her lip gently. "Percy said you lost your wife?" James looked down.

"Sandra," he answered. "She died of cancer – it's one of the more fatal muggle diseases – about three years ago."I was almost glad when she finally died, though – cancer is an incredibly painful disease, and sometimes the quick death is better than long, drawn-out one."

"I suppose," she agreed. "What was she like?" she asked after a few silent moments.

James considered the question. "Friendly," he finally answered. "It's why we met, actually. I was studying at the same muggle university as her, and we were in some of the same classes and lived in the same apartment complex. But I was always holed up in my room, trying to keep up in all my classes, and she took my aloofness as an offense to her nature. She was always dragging me out to some activity or another, or staying at my apartment while I studied. I didn't want to make any friends – I just wanted to get a degree and a job – but she just inserted herself into my life until I didn't want her out of it. I think you would've liked her," he decided.

Ginny grinned at the description. "I have a hard time seeing you studious," she teased. "Did she know about the magical world?"

Harry shook his head. "I never got around to telling her. I had no clue how to tell her, really, and the right time to even try never came up. And in some ways, it was easier to pretend magic wasn't real. I wasn't really in a good place back then, mentally or emotionally, and acting like just another muggle helped."

She considered this. "I guess I understand. But how did your son manage to summon things, if you never told him about magic?"

Harry grimaced. "I did tell him, actually, in a way. Stories about Hogwarts and the wizarding world were his favorite bedtime stories. I thought he had forgotten about them, though, until Monday. It turns out he dropped his pencil just out of reach, didn't quite feel like getting up to get it back, and accidentally summoned it. He tried to repeat the experiment to make sure he wasn't dreaming, and ended up exhausting himself magically while summoning his eraser over and over. Then he summoned my pillow the next day and I realized he was a wizard. I just can't believe he never did accidental magic when he was a kid."

"Maybe he did," Ginny pointed out. "You just might not have seen it or realized what it was. Mum says that I used to use accidental magic to make myself louder when I was a baby – if she didn't hear me crying, I'd just amplify my voice until I was louder than the boys apparently. But unless you knew that it was magic, you'd just think I had a strong set of lungs." Harry grinned at the story. He had never heard that before.

"You're probably right," he agreed. "I thought accidental magic was always big things, though. I used to find myself on roofs or shrink sweaters. I even made a glass wall disappear once, when I was ten. And Neville told me that he once fell out of a window and bounced to safety when he was a kid."

"It's different for each person," she shrugged. "Different circumstances, different amounts of magic, different results." He considered this.

"That makes sense." It occurred to James that they were avoiding any major issues. He supposed it was a good thing, though. He wasn't quite ready for the discussion he knew they needed to have eventually. For now, though, it was enough to talk about little things with her. She was alive. That was all he needed for now.

* * *

Author's Note: Hey, another chapter! Finally!

Actually, I've been doing a lot of work on this, even besides writing this chapter. I have two documents to help me out with this. One is "Outline" and the other is "Resolving Questions." I've been modifying each of them pretty regularly to further my work on this story. I actually keep referring to "Resolving Questions" the whole time I'm writing a new chapter, since it has all of my notes on the characters, the background stories, and other miscellaneous information. But while I was writing this chapter, I realized that not all of my information matched up. I have, for example, in "Resolving Questions" that Mark was born May 15, 2001, and that the fic begins May of 2014, shortly after Mark has turned thirteen. But in previous chapters, I mention that Mark is fourteen. I have no clue how that happened, really. But it's fixed now. However, if anyone happens to find any problems, please let me know. I want this fic as well-written as I can make it, but I'm not always the best proof-reader. Probably because I write and edit at the same time and rarely look it over in the end before I upload it - I'm always in too much of a rush.

I've also looked at the Harry Potter Lexicon, which gives some wonderful information (from interviews with JKR) about everything that happens to the canon characters after Voldemort is defeated and before the epilogue, and that's where a lot of my information about the Weasleys, Longbottoms, and Luna comes from. (Except, of course, where I've changed things to fit my AU, like Ginny marrying Seamus and Seamus dying.)

I introduce a lot of characters in this fic, and I deliberately didn't give them all proper introductions. This is from Harry's perspective, and I doubt he would think of each Weasley cousin, Lupin, and Longbottom by name, age, and parentage. For your information, though, here's the data I'm using to write this (mostly from Harry Potter Lexicon):

New Families 

Remus + Tonks = Teddy (16)

Bill + Fleur = Victoire (15), Dominique (13), Louis (11)

Percy + Audrey = Molly (14), Lucy (10)

George + Angelina = Fred (13), Roxanne (11)

Ron + Hermione = Rose (10), Hugo (8)

Harry (James) + Sandra (deceased) = Mark (13), Maria (10), Roger (7)

Ginny + Seamus (deceased) = Arthur (6)

Neville + Hannah = Alyssa (9), Frank (6)

Luna + Rolf Scamander = Lorcan (6 months), Lysander (6 months)

By the way, the inscription on Ariana Dumbledore's grave is the actual inscription, according to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Please, if you did, review and let me know! If you didn't enjoy it, please review and tell me why!


	6. Chapter 6: An Old Case

Chapter 6: An Old Case

"We're home!" called Mark as he and his siblings walked in. There wasn't an answer, but Mark wasn't really bothered by that – Dad was normally gone when they came home. He tried to make it home before them at least two times a week, but most of the time, he was gone until four or five. Mrs. Johnson had worried about that, at first, and used to offer to let the three stay at her house until Dad came home, but they had assured her that it wasn't a problem. Mark was by now quite used to babysitting his brother and sister for a few hours each day, and they normally just had an after-school snack, did their homework, and then sat down in front of the TV – no, Mark corrected himself, the telly – until dinner. Sometimes, if the weather was good, Roger would go and inspect and care for his plants outside, and sometimes Maria would do some sort of craft, but mostly they just stuck to their normal routine.

So when Dad didn't come to greet them, Mark just shrugged and walked over to the whiteboard on the fridge. Sure enough, his father's scrawl greeted him. It was basically the same message his dad wrote every day. He usually came home for lunch, wrote the message, and went back to work. _Working until 6 or 7 – give me a call if you get hungry before I get back._

Mark raised an eyebrow. Six or seven? Something serious must have happened, to make Dad stay at the police station so late.

* * *

James sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the headache he could feel growing there. He had been staring at the same files for hours now, trying to glean new information from them.

Five years ago, James had been put in charge of finding a serial killer that had already killed five people by the time James got the case. He worked on it for about a week before he decided that the evidence of a single killer was faulty and that there were at least three killers on a team. They seemed to be killing randomly and had murdered five people – two middle-aged women, an old man, a middle-aged man, and a teenager – in two weeks. James was lucky, in a way – the killers hadn't killed anyone during his first week on the case, and he managed to prevent the sixth attack from becoming a sixth kill on his ninth day on the case. Unfortunately, while he saved the woman and got a good look at two of the killers, he hadn't been able to make any arrests, and they left the state, killing someone shortly after arriving in New Jersey. Since it had become an inter-state case, James handed all of his notes and evidence over to the FBI, along with his theory and an accurate description of the two killers he had spotted. A few days later, he had been informed that the FBI had killed two of them and arrested the third. All the evidence suggested that the surviving member of the gang had been the leader, so he was now in prison serving a life sentence with hundreds of people demanding that he be placed on death row. James personally didn't care if he was executed or if he spent decades in prison; he just wanted justice to be served and the matter to be done with. His answer had really annoyed the press, he recalled, but the FBI agents had agreed with him, as he discovered at the college student's funeral.

Now he was reviewing the case files, trying to see what he had missed. Two murders had recently occurred in the Bronx with the exact same MO as the three serial killers, and the FBI had just gotten a team on it when the murderer had apparently escaped to England. All evidence suggested that the murderer had been on the original team and that he was now loose in Essex. So now James had the case again, and he was trying to confirm that this new murderer was indeed a previously unknown member of the serial killers' team and figure out where he was going to strike next. He had the old case files and the information on the new murders and was reading them over and over, trying to learn something new.

But now, after five hours of staring at the files, his headache was as murderous as the man he was trying to track. He stood up and went to fetch a fresh cup of tea. As he filled his cup, he let his mind wander from the case.

It had been wonderful, seeing his old friends again. Everyone had stayed at the Burrow for hours, and he had only left when the sun began to set and he remembered that his children had school the next day. On the drive home, all three of his children had agreed with him that the outing had been a success. Roger was chattering excitedly about the new plants Alyssa had promised to bring him and the play-date set for Saturday, Maria was texting Hermione and Ron's daughter (one of the few Weasley children with a cell phone and that knew how to use one) already, and Mark was asking his father about buying a book Percy's daughter had told him about.

Harry had asked Hermione about the requirements for putting his house on the floo network. She had been startled when he brought it up, remembering his utter hatred it for flooing, but she had agreed that it would be much cheaper and easier than driving, and it would help him stay in better contact, since few of the Weasleys had telephones. (Arthur Weasley had considered it, but his wife had talked him out of it eventually, and no one really wanted to try to teach the enthusiastic man how to use a cell phone.) His house had a fireplace, like many of the houses in the neighborhood, though he normally only used it on cold winter evenings. He would have to go to the Ministry to register it, though. Harry made a face, remembering that. He would have to do that sometime before Saturday so Roger's new friends could come easier, and he would also have to let the Ministry know that he was alive at the same time. He really wasn't looking forward to that.

Harry had spoken to all of his old friends that had made it to the gathering, as well as some of the younger generation. He had been flattered to learn that Remus and Tonks had never given Teddy another godfather, so he still had that position and had therefore spent a few minutes getting to know sixteen-year old Teddy Lupin. He was a metamorphmagus like his mother and was starting a relationship with Bill and Fleur's oldest daughter, fifteen-year old Victoire. Unlike his technicolor-haired mother mother, though, Teddy was fairly subtle about his talent and tended to have natural-colored hair. He had spent most of Sunday afternoon with red hair to match the Weasleys, but he had entertained the younger children– including Harry's fascinated kids – for about fifteen minutes by changing his hair color and facial features.

With a start, James remembered the day he had saved a woman and failed to arrest her attackers. There had been a fourth man, he remembered, and he had thought at first that he was with the other suspects, but he had never been able to confirm it. He had run like the others, though, and James had gotten a good look at him and sent out a description of his fairly distinctive features, but no one had seen any sign of him, despite the ten officers in the area. It was assumed that James had been wrong, but now he wasn't so sure.

James returned to the case files and once again reviewed the descriptions of the victims. Each one had been stabbed almost ritualistically – once on each limb – and then suffocated. But no one had ever been able to determine how they had been suffocated; there were no traces of a item to smother them at the crime scenes or in their mouths or lungs, and there normally was at least a hint. Forensics hadn't been able to find anything. The only survivor of the team's attacks – the woman James had saved – had been unconscious during the entire time she was with them and didn't know how they had knocked her out. She hadn't been hit in the head (or if she was, it hadn't left a mark and therefore wouldn't have knocked her out), she hadn't been drugged, and it had baffled everyone, including James. But at that time he had truly been James Lilson, just another ordinary man with nothing to do with magic, not one to accept supernatural explanations.

Harry quickly realized that magic could answer all of his old questions. A stunner would easily knock out the victims without leaving a mark, and a variation of the bubble-head charm could keep all air away from a person's face until he or she died of suffocation. Magic certainly would have helped a criminal – even four criminals – escape the detailed search of ten police officers and four FBI agents.

But, James checked and read that neither the two dead killers nor the one in prison showed any sign of magic. No strange sticks on their person, no insults aimed at "interfering muggles," or anything else that typically accompanied magical crimes against muggles.

Perhaps it was just the one man that had magic. It would certainly explain why he evaded capture and imprisonment when the others didn't, as well as how he smuggled a gun onto an airplane without being noticed. It solved everything.

Except, James noted wryly, the question of why he had come to Essex and what he was up to. And what he was going to tell his superiors. _"Yes, chief, I think the man's a wizard. Yes sir, that means he kills people by waving a magic wand and saying nonsensical-sounding words. But don't worry, sir, because I'm also a wizard and can probably still catch him."_ He rolled his eyes. No, that wouldn't work – he didn't think Mark, Maria, and Roger would appreciate their father spending the rest of his life in a mental hospital. He would just have to make sure he stayed on the case and was the one to arrest him. The kids wouldn't like that – he wouldn't like that – but it was the safest way, really. Maybe Ron or Tonks could help him, or figure out how to transfer him to Azkaban, assuming of course that Harry could catch him in the first place.

His cell phone vibrated on his desk, and James looked down at it. He had a new text message from Mark. He opened the message and read it before wincing. It was 7:30 and Mark was wondering when he'd be home. He quickly found Mark's name in his contacts list and pressed send. Mark picked up after the first ring.

"Dad?"

"Hi Mark. I got your text. Sorry I'm late – I suppose I got caught up with work. I'll just tidy up and head home. Can I assume you're all hungry?"

"Oh yeah," Mark responded. "I can make pasta, if you want, or we can do take-out. Maria wants McDonald's." James smiled. McDonald's had been the kids' favorite meal for years, and one of Maria's biggest concerns about moving out of the United States had been losing McDonald's. She and Roger had cheered the first time they saw the golden arches in England.

"What do you and Roger think?"

"I'm good with anything, but I think Roger is on Maria's side. I can talk them out of it, if you like," Mark offered. James considered the options, and decided that he was willing to spend money tonight.

"I think fast food sounds good, too. Tell you what: let them know that if everyone's homework is done by the time I get home and the living room and TV room are tidy, we'll go to McDonald's as soon as I get home." He was pretty sure they had all already done their homework – Roger rarely had much, and Maria and Mark were well aware that homework was easiest if done immediately after school. The living room was also an easy request, but the TV room might cause a bit of panic. The kids tended to sprawl out down there, often with the dishes from a snack or other odds and ends lying about.

"Will do, Dad. See you in a little while, then."

"See you in ten minutes, Mark. Bye." He hung up and began cleaning up. Two minutes later, he was unlocking his car and feeling grateful for the end of his work day. He had spent nine hours at the station today – far too long by anyone's standards, he was sure. It had been time well-spent, though. He was once again completely familiar with the case and everything concerning it, he had a theory that would likely prove true, and the beginnings of a plan. Hopefully, the case would be over by the end of the week.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I know this is kind of short and that almost nothing happens. Unfortunately, I need this chapter as it is to advance the story, and I decided that uploading this now was better than waiting for me to figure out how to write the next part. Hopefully you'll agree.

I have started the next chapter though, - I have maybe a page and a half written - so it shouldn't be too long before chapter 7 is up, too. At least, that's the plan.

Please read and review! I love reviews! They're always so encouraging and fun to read!


	7. Chapter 7: A Matter of Identity

Chapter 7: A Matter of Identity

"Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches, been in use 23 years, correct?" The man at the desk sounded completely uninterested, and normally Harry would admonish the man for his carelessness, but right now he was grateful. If the man wasn't bothering to figure out who Harry was, then Harry could stay anonymous. That was more important right now than improving a guard's behavior, in Harry's opinion.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "May I ask, now, which floor the department of identities is on?"

"Ninth floor," the guard grunted, opening his paper again.

"Thanks." Harry pocketed his wand and headed for the lift. As the lift traveled up, he rehearsed the plan. As long as he stayed in control, it should work.

When the elevator stopped, he stepped out and began walking down the hall, eyeing each door to find his goal. After six doors, he stopped and knocked.

"Come in!" came a cheery voice. Harry stepped in and looked around. Two of the walls were hidden by grey file cabinets. The third contained two desks, behind which sat two nondescript men. James eyed them warily. They were the kind of men that blended into everything and that few people ever noticed. He hated dealing with people like that, had hated it since his first month as a cop. But oh well.

"So, what can we do for you?" continued the man on the right. "Name change, age change for muggle records, what's your pleasure?" Harry raised an eyebrow. Age change? Strange.

"Anything we can do to help, as long as it's legal, we'll do," added the man on the left.

"Naturally," agreed the right man, "but legality is a very complex subject. Illegal acts in the muggle world are quite legal when done completely in the wizarding world."

"Such as age changes and ethnicity changes," volunteered the left man.

James closed his eyes for a minute to dispel the slightly dizzy feeling they produced. He opened his eyes and examined the two men even more closely.

"You're twins," he stated with certainty. Both men raised an eyebrow.

"You're good," said the right one. "Most people don't notice. They don't really look at us, you know?"

"It's my business to remember faces," James said. "Moving on. I'd like to change my children's surnames to match mine, but only in the wizarding world. They'll keep their current surname in the muggle world. Is that possible?"

"Sure is," said the right twin easily. "It's fairly easy, too."

"Not the most common thing, though," added the left twin. "But all you have to do is fill out a form for each kid and we'll file it. Shouldn't take more than a half hour, I expect, unless you have a larger than average family. You don't, do you?"

"No," said James. "Three kids, that's all." He took the forms they gave him, sat down in a convenient chair, and began filling them out. Child's current name, new name for child, his name(s) and his signature(s). A bunch of legalese and whether or not his children were magical (wizard, witch, squib, muggle, or not yet known), and he was done.

"They're a lot shorter than most legal forms," James commented as he stood up and placed the completed forms on the left desk. The desk's owner took them and began looking them over.

"Well of course," said the man on the right. "Most people that go around changing bits of their identity don't want to leave lots of evidence lying around. Even a promise of confidentiality isn't good enough for most of them."

"Here now," interrupted the man on the left, "you can't give your kids this surname. It's taken."

James raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry? I fail to see the problem."

The man on the left handed one of the forms to his twin. "It's one thing for a muggleborn to have been born a Potter. It's a common name in the muggle world. But you can't have a wizard changing his kids' name to Potter."

"The Potter family is an old, pureblood family," continued the man on the right. "The name's practically patented in the wizarding world. It'd be like trying to change your name to Dumbledore – can't be done. It'd be like adopting yourself into the Potter family."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," Harry Potter said calmly. "Why can't I give my kids my surname?"

"What do you mean, your surname?" demanded the man on the left. "Your name's Lilson, too, isn't it?"

"Or not," said the man on the right, paling. He leaned over to his brother's desk. "Look here," The left twin obligingly read the line his brother pointed to and looked up.

"You're Harry Potter?" Harry nodded, the picture of calm helpfulness. "But he's dead!"

"Dead?" Harry asked. "Why on earth would you think I'm dead? There were a few close calls, I'll admit, but I assure you, I'm very much still alive." He ignored the small detail of having died for a few seconds – that wouldn't help his case very much. "Who told you I was dead?"

"Well, the policy is, I mean," the man on the right pulled himself together. "Harry Potter was declared missing in 1998. The minister called off the search and declared him dead in 2002. He's been dead ever since!"

"Really." Harry folded his arms. "Look, I left Europe in '98, I'll agree, but I didn't leave it because I died!" sort of, he corrected silently. "I've been living in the US for fourteen years, where I married and had three kids. We just came back to England a little less than two years ago. I changed my name back when I first left Europe to Lilson, so my kids and I are Lilsons in the muggle world. But I just learned that my oldest is magical and my younger two probably are as well, so I figured I'd give them the Potter name in the wizarding world. Now, will you file the name change or not?" He smirked inwardly at the completely bewildered men.

"Er, well, we'll have to change your legal status first, Mr. Potter. That is," the right man pulled out another form, "we'll need some sort of proof that you're really Harry Potter. I'm sure you can understand why."

Harry nodded. "I expected as much. Well, I have my wand," he flourished it, "which I understand is registered somewhere as mine. I also have some letters and papers written to me and that I've written," he pulled those out as well, "but I suppose a fake me might have stolen both wand and papers. Well, will this do?" He reached up and pushed his bangs out of the way, revealing his famous scar. The men stared. He dropped his hand and let his bangs cover the scar again. "So, have I managed to convince you I'm Harry Potter?" They nodded dumbly. "Great. Now, you said you'll need to correct my legal status?"

"Er, yeah," said the man on the right, still in shock. "To change it back to 'living.' Er, there's a form … here it is." He handed it to Harry with a slightly trembling hand. He took it and sat down again. It was just as basic as the name change forms: name(s), birth date, supposed death date, and the current date. He put "stupidity of ministry – failure to search properly" as the reason for the supposed death, signed his name, and returned the form to the man on the right. In the five minutes he had spent on the form (he took his time to give them time to compose themselves), they had apparently managed to regain some of their former composure and were now waiting mostly calmly for him.

"That's that, then," said the man on the left. "We'll file the forms for you in all the right places, and you're done. And, er, congratulations on being not-dead, I suppose."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly. He stood to leave and paused when his hand was on the doorknob. "One more thing. I'm sure you two are quite used to keeping things quiet, but I would like to emphasize that I don't want it being noised about that I'm back. I like things quiet and I want to handle this in my own time and my own way. Is that clear?" Both men straightened at the idea that they would violate their confidentiality promises.

"Of course, sir! We keep things nearly as quiet as the Department of Mysteries, and the only reason we're not as quiet as them is the need to actually file the changes! But I assure you, Mr. Potter, that we will not go about telling people," said the left twin indignantly.

"If they ask us, certainly we'll tell them, but until someone comes out and directly asks us if you're alive or dead, we won't say a word!" added the right twin.

"Good. In that case, gentleman, thank you, and goodbye." He reached out and shook their hands, then returned to the door and left, feeling rather pleased with himself.

As he returned to the lift, he let his mind wander back to his first concerns with the department of identities. It seemed they had no scruples whatsoever. As long as they could twist the law enough to make it work, they would let anyone adjust anything about their identity and make it official. That rather bothered the cop in him, especially since they clearly considered wizarding law to be higher than muggle law. He might not have any authority in the wizarding world, but he certainly did in the muggle world, and the idea that wizards could commit crimes in the muggle world, let the police give them a criminal record, and then wipe the record clean through the wizarding world, was incredibly irritating.

So he let the lift keep going until it reached Level 2, and stopped there. He followed the signs until he reached the slightly tilted sign for Auror Headquarters, went through the door, and stopped at the receptionist desk.

"Hi," he said, startling the woman into nearly filing her finger off along with the nail with her wand. He waited for her to bandage the cut before he continued. "Sorry if I startled you. I was wondering if Ron Weasley was in?"

"Yeah," she muttered, flipping quickly through her magazine to find a spell to grow her nail again. "Go right through, Weasley's cubicle is third on the left. He's probably in."

"Thanks," he said cheerfully. He followed the directions and knocked on the outside of Ron's cubicle before poking his head in. Ron, who was apparently crawling underneath his desk, lifted his head at the knock and banged it on the bottom of the desk.

"Ow! Merlin's beard, who's there?" He crawled backwards and looked up at Harry, who was watching him with obvious amusement.

"Lose something, Ron?"

"Harry! Hey! Yeah, I supposedly got a memo a few days ago from Kingsley, but I can't find it. I thought maybe it fell." He got up, rubbing his head.

"Or maybe it's just buried prematurely," Harry suggested, considering the towering piles of paperwork teetering on his friend's desk.

"I don't think so," Ron said doubtfully. "I looked through the top twenty pages of each stack …"

"See, this is why I like working as a muggle," Harry told him smugly. "Most of the paperwork is all on the computer, especially memos. They're much harder to lose that way."

Ron eyed him suspiciously. "You mean you actually try to read them?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "You don't? Wait a minute," his eyes narrowed. "Let me guess. You lost that memo on purpose."

Ron looked around in panic. "Don't say that too loud, mate! Kingsley would be utterly ticked off if he found out that I missed that meeting on purpose!"

Harry muffled a snort. "What was the meeting for?" He leaned casually against the door frame and watched Ron grin sheepishly.

"New regulations. Details on the new forms we need to fill out before we can arrest someone. Nothing too serious." Ron finally sat back in his chair and shrugged at Harry.

"Ron, I may not be an Auror, but I do still arrest people when they commit crimes. And I assure you, filling out the forms improperly gives the defense attorneys a thrill like you wouldn't believe. All they have to do is say that we didn't fill out the forms right, and then the arrest isn't legal and we need to let the criminal go, no matter how strong the evidence against him is."

"Yeah, that's true," Ron agreed ruefully. Then he brightened up. "But that's what my partner's for. He's a rookie, so I get to make him do all the paperwork. And he did go to the meeting."

"Let me guess," Harry said, "he's the kind of rookie that insists on doing everything by the book until he misses what's right in front of him?" Ron nodded with a grimace. Harry sighed. "I hate that kind. My sympathy, Ron. See, that's why I'm glad I only do desk duty these days. No partners."

"Just desk duty? Well, I can see why you would, what with your kids and all, but that has got to be dead boring."

"It has its moments. Actually, Ron, that's one of the reasons I came to see you. I was looking at the notes for a case I'm working on, and I almost think the guy's a wizard. How do I go about proving it and transferring the case to you guys?"

Ron blinked. "A wizard? What's he up to?"

"It's a serial killer case from about five years ago," Harry explained. "A ring of what we thought was three killers in New York, but the FBI killed two of them and arrested the third. We thought that was it, but lately someone's been killing people with an identical M.O. He left the US recently and made it to England. I worked with the case five years ago, so it's come to me. There were oddities about the murders back then – the victims were all injured, but didn't seem to die from them, and we couldn't figure out how they died. It looked like suffocation, but we couldn't figure out what with. But I was thinking, magic could do that easily. It would also explain how we never noticed the man and how he smuggled himself onto a plane without us spotting him."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Ron murmured, thinking it through. "Well, I'm not sure how we would get the case transferred to us – I'd have to talk to Kingsley. But I'm certainly willing to help, mate."

"Excellent," Harry grinned. "Now, moving on to my next question. I was at the department of identities earlier, and they seem rather shady. How on earth is that department legal?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I hate that department. Those two give me the creeps. They remind me of Fred and George, except Fred and George were all about fun and mischief. They never acted like those two. Every time I deal with that department, I just want to cast recognition charms on them. Half the time they dress to blend in with the rest of the room they're in!"

"I know what you mean," Harry nodded. "But they're really legal?"

"They are," Ron confirmed. "And they can be useful. They keep records of all the identity changes for the past century, so if we suspect that someone's been changing things we can find out. The tricky part is nailing them down – the department won't give us the current files unless we can give them the current name. And plenty of criminals change their names after every crime, so it's murder trying to keep up with it."

Harry grimaced in sympathy. "I'm sorry, mate. I guess red tape is a pain no matter where you are."

"Tell me about it," Ron moaned. Then he blinked. "But what were you doing there? How did you even know it was there?"

Harry shrugged. "The kids told me last night that they wanted to change their last name to Potter, but only in the wizarding world. So I called Hermione and asked her if she knew how I should go about doing that. She told me about the department."

"So they're Potters now, too?" Ron checked. Harry nodded. "Cool."

"I also discovered that I was legally dead, so I got that changed, too." He snickered. "Gave them quite a shock, too, when I told them who I was." Ron laughed, too, and got up.

"Well, come on, mate. Let's go see what Kingsley has to say about that case of yours."

* * *

Ron left his cubicle and headed to the exit, rubbing his temples. What a day. He paused at the fireplaces, considered them, and shook his head. He would walk home. He needed the time to think.

Harry's visit had been a pleasant surprise. He had completely gotten used to the idea that Harry was alive and had stopped wondering if he was dreaming a couple of days ago, but the succeeding idea – that Harry and he could see each other and have casual, fun conversations again – was still something to struggle with. Sixteen years was a long time, and a week was not enough time to dispel sixteen years of missing – twelve years of mourning – his best friend. He wasn't complaining, though. He would take confusion and bemusement over grief any day.

Kingsley's revelations, though, had not been pleasant, though they were certainly a surprise. Ron and Harry had gone to see him, and after Kingsley finished yelling at Ron for not telling him about Harry's living state (and for missing the meeting again), they had discussed Harry's case. Harry had brought his notes, both from the murders five years ago and the more recent ones, and the three had gone over them. Kingsley and Ron had agreed that the surviving killer was definitely a wizard, and Kingsley had promised to see about transferring the case to the Aurors or getting an Auror in to consult with Harry on the case. Harry had been surprised to learn that Aurors often worked with the muggle police, to Ron and Kingsley's amusement. Then Harry had left, pointing out that his kids would be home from school again, and Ron had made to follow him.

"_Wait a minute, Weasley. I'm not done with you."_ Kingsley had kept Ron in that office for another hour before releasing him to go home. Ron rubbed his eyes, going over the conversation.

"_There's something I need to tell you."_ Kingsley had already known about Harry's case, had assigned an Auror to look into the foreign wizard killing muggles in a seemingly muggle fashion. The Auror had reported to Kingsley earlier that day, in fact, with new information. Information that Kingsley had held back from Harry. From the muggle police.

"_There's more than one murderer. It seems the American wizard had a friend, in England. We think that's why he came. To recruit him. Jack Wiston. You remember him, right?""_ Jack Wiston. They thought he was dead. Probably thanks due to the department of identities again. Wiston loved that department. After all, Wiston was the name the Aurors knew him by, but he had gone by at least seven other names before that, and all of them had been legal. And now Wiston was back to killing, and he had a friend. A friend that had already participated in at least seven murders. A friend that had a specific target now.

"_We think they're going to return to America soon. The American is apparently fixated on a muggle policeman in New York. The muggle was key in stopping the others, probably one of Potter's colleagues. Name of Lilson."_ Ron had been numb with shock as he informed Kingsley that Harry went by James Lilson in the muggle world. Harry was the murderer's target. And once the killers found out that Harry had a family, the kids would probably be targeted too.

"_I'll see about taking the case entirely from the muggles. I've done it before, it's easy enough. We'll let them know that Potter – sorry, Lilson's family is in danger and should go into protective custody and that we'll handle it."_

"_Harry won't let you put him into protective custody. He hates being protected"_ Kingsley and Ron had argued for a little, until they agreed that they would suggest putting his kids into protective custody and letting him help the Aurors. Ron still wasn't sure, but at least it was better than locking Harry up and telling him that it was for his own good.

"Dad!" Ron looked up in shock as Rose and Hugo ran towards him. He was home. He forced a smile and began the process of greeting his children and deciphering their descriptions of their day. He congratulated, commiserated, and laughed at all the right moments and was finally rewarded with his wife's presence.

"How was work today?" Hermione asked him. He turned to her and gave her a kiss. They both grinned when their kids complained and pulled apart.

"Fine," he answered. He would wait to speak to Hermione about his talk with Kingsley until later. "Harry came by. He had been dealing with the department of identities and wanted to vent, I guess."

"That must have been fun for you," Hermione laughed. "You rant about that department at least once a month."

"So?" Ron retorted. "That department is the most frustrating department in the entire ministry, and those twins that run it know it!" He forcefully pushed back his numerous complaints about the department of identities, knowing that she would only tease him about it. She understood, and agreed with him, but she still teased him about his rants every time the topic came up. In the interests of his dignity, therefore, he changed the subject. "How about you? Were the classes all right?"

Hermione grimaced. "I shouldn't have assigned that last essay. I'm going to be entirely swamped, trying to grade fifty essays and write up the next tests before next week. And I have a meeting at eight tomorrow morning with the Headmistress, and two tutoring sessions after that… I was looking forward to a nice, leisurely day tomorrow."

Hermione had been teaching History of Magic at Hogwarts for five years. McGonagall had tried to get her to teach immediately after Binns finally retired and moved on seven years ago, but Hugo had only been a year old and Hermione hadn't wanted to leave him. She finally agreed to take the job when Hugo was three and old enough to willingly spend a few days each week (she only held classes Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays) without Mummy. Ron took off work every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday; Molly happily watched them every Wednesday and was already teaching Rose basic recipes; and Hermione's parents closed their office every Monday to spend time with their only grandchildren. The arrangement had taken an entire summer to figure out, but it worked wonderfully now, giving Ron and Hermione time for work and family. The only time there was trouble now was when something required one of them to work an extra day or two, though both Kingsley and McGonagall did their best.

"I can probably take off tomorrow," Ron offered. "I might need to go in sometime in the afternoon, though. And I actually need to talk to you about that, Hermione." He'd need to talk it over with Harry before they made any real plans, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to broach the topic with Hermione first. He made sure that neither Rose nor Hugo was within earshot. "See, Harry has a case with a magical killer, and Kingsley thinks Harry and his kids are going to be targeted once the killer figures out they're in England and not America. I was wondering what you'd think of having them stay with us for a while."

* * *

Author's Note: See? See? I can update twice within a month! Actually, I think this is exactly a week after my last update. Isn't that exciting?

I know that JKR says Hermione actually works in the Ministry, but I see her more as a teacher than a ministry worker, personally. So hopefully you guys won't mind the change.

Anyway, I hope you like the new chapter. Please read and review! I like to know what you think about each chapter!


	8. Outtake: Halloween

Author's Note: Ok, so this isn't the chapter 8 you were expecting. I am working on chapter 8, but in the meantime, I wanted to celebrate my second favorite holiday (Christmas is 1st) with a little scene from Back to Magic's past. Halloween with the Lilson family, one year before Sandra is diagnosed with cancer. It was supposed to have a plot, but none of the characters cooperated; they just wanted to eat breakfast and put on their costumes.

I might take it out of Back to Magic and put it as its own story later, but for now it's staying here. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the Addams Family.

October 31, 2009

"Bonjour, mon cheri." James looked up from the cookies to greet his wife and found himself staring. Sandra was in a long black dress that was tight until it reached her knees, where it loosened considerably. The neckline was lower than he had ever seen her wear. She had died her hair black and put on bright red lipstick. He grinned at her.

"'Morticia, darling,'" he quoted, "'you spoke French!'"

"Oui," she responded coolly. He carefully put the tube of icing down and walked over to her. Once he was close enough, he dipped her and gave her a long, deep kiss. He was ready to lift her up again and continue kissing her a little more seriously when they were interrupted by a chorus of gagging sounds. So instead James let Sandra stand up properly and glared at his kids.

"If you don't like it, don't watch," he told them. Mark made a face at him and completely entered the kitchen. He was still in his pajamas, which was normal for the eight-year-old. He and his father argued at least twice a week about the need to wear non-pajamas to school.

"I need Mom to help me with my costume," he told his parents distractedly. "Can I have a cookie?"

"No," Sandra told him. "Those are for the trick-or-treaters."

"I'm a trick-or-treater, Mom," Maria announced. "Can I have a cookie?"

"Trick or treat!" Three-year-old Roger chimed in, stretching his arm up for a frosted broomstick-shaped cookie. James caught his hand.

"No, to all of you," he said firmly. "No trick-or-treating until tonight, and no taste-testing of the treats, or you don't get any."

"But—ˮ Mark protested.

"No buts," Sandra interrupted. "Now go get ready for school Mark, Maria." Maria made a face—despite having started kindergarten nearly two months ago, the five-year-old still hated getting ready. This gave James endless amusement, since she had spent the two months before kindergarten telling her parents everything she would do once school started, including being up and completely ready before anyone else. Her enthusiasm died pretty quickly on her first try, since James woke up at five-thirty each morning and had dutifully woken her up when he finished showering. Somehow the little girl didn't think being up at 5:45 am counted in her resolution. She stopped reminding her dad to wake her up in the morning that very night.

Sandra smiled ruefully at James and followed the older kids upstairs to usher them along and help them into their costumes. Mark was being Frodo this year and Maria was being Snow White. Roger was, according to Sandra, going to be a pine tree. This was her interpretation of Roger's plan, which was to be a Christmas tree. After he had tearfully accepted his mother's explanation of exactly why Christmas-themed things were not allowed until after Thanksgiving, James had quietly crept into the attic and found some child-safe Christmas tree ornaments. He would help the three-year-old attach them to his branches once Sandra took the older kids to school. Sandra wouldn't be able to insist on the ornaments' removal once she saw Roger's delight, James knew from experience. She wasn't able to deny her baby anything once James was on Roger's side.

James shook his head to pull himself out of his thoughts and just barely caught Roger from toppling the bowl of sprinkles.

"Uh-uh, little man," he scolded, lifting Roger onto his lap. "Those are for the cookies."

"Can I have a cookie?" Roger asked, pointing to a sugar cookie cut into the shape of a howling wolf.

"No. They're for tonight, remember? But how about breakfast instead?" James stood up, still holding Roger, and carried him over to the cereal boxes. The little boy pointed to the Lucky Charms, so James set him down into a chair—far away from the cookies—and began pouring out the cereal.

Roger was nearly finished with his bowl and James had decorated six more cookies when Sandra and the other kids returned. He complimented them properly and watched as Sandra steered their minds—and stomachs—towards a healthier breakfast than cookies or candy. They compromised on Lucky Charms, too. James hid his smirk. This had happened every day for the past week; you'd think Sandra would have accepted it by now.

By the time Sandra, Mark, and Maria were in the car and Roger was dressed in his plain pine tree costume, James had finished all the cookies. They were decorated and packaged, so his trick-or-treating preparations were finished. Now for the subversion of Sandra's authority…

Roger was delighted with James' proposed revisions to his costume and excitedly helped him attach the little gold and silver balls to his pine needles.

"I love you Daddy! Thank you!" he shouted for the third time, staring at his reflection in James' and Sandra's room.

"You're welcome," James told him, grinning.

"But where's your costume, Daddy?" Roger asked. James blinked.

"I'm wearing it, kiddo." Well, not really. He was just in his uniform like always, but it wasn't like he could wear a costume at the station. So he was being a police officer for Halloween.

"Daddy!" Roger whined. "You can't be a p'lice man for your costume. You're always a p'lice man. You've gotta be something different."

"I've got to, huh?" James crouched down next to Roger. "Then what should I be?" The little boy's eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. Then his eyes lit up.

"You should be a dragon, Daddy!"

"That might be a bit difficult, lad. Where would I get the wings or the tail?"

"Oh," Roger said glumly. He thought some more. His eyes brightened again. "You can be Harry, Daddy! From the bed-time stories!"

James fought back the sudden urge to choke. And that was better than wearing his uniform? But if Roger wanted it …

"Ok then. How should I dress like Harry?"

"You tell the stories, Daddy. Don't you know what Harry looks like?" James grinned ruefully.

"So I need to wear robes, then, huh?"

Roger nodded enthusiastically, threatening to lose his hat with the top of his tree. "Yeah! And get a wand and a broomstick! And you need to get glasses, and an owl, too!"

"The owl might be tricky," James warned his small son, fighting back the grief that came with thoughts of Hedwig. Thinking of his faithful owl reminded him of other lost friends. Sirius … Fred … Hermione … Ginny … Ginny. Oh, Ginny. He shook his head and re-focused. "How about I just do the other stuff, and not the owl, ok?"

"Ok," Roger agreed reluctantly. Then he cheered up again and began pulling on his dad's arm. "C'mon Daddy! Let's get your wand and broomstick!"

James laughed and let Roger tow him downstairs. He'd use a stick for the wand, he guessed, and Sandra probably wouldn't mind him carrying the kitchen broom around all day. He could pretend his long black bathrobe was a wizard's robe, too. Roger never saw it, since he slept until long after James had showered, so that should work. But the glasses, those might be tricky. He had thrown his last pair out back in college, when he got the Lasik surgery done. And Sandra had natural 20/20 vision, the lucky woman. He supposed he'd have to pick some up on his way to work.

And then, once he was alone, or at least away from his family, he could laugh at the irony of being who he used to be for Halloween instead of being who he was now.


End file.
